


Worlds Apart

by Fernandidilly_yo



Series: Venir Ensemble [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bat Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Dealing with Emotions, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Injury, Mentioned Character Death, Sadness, The first chapter is intense, and then its all recovery, because who doesn't like a good recovery story?!, domestic stuff, hurt!Dick, i say mentioned because it is in another universe, learning to cope, recovery is my jam, so does that count?, universe jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernandidilly_yo/pseuds/Fernandidilly_yo
Summary: Dick's world is falling apart. With all the heroes and Batman gone, the teen thinks this is the end, that is until Dick miraculously end up in an Alternet Universe where the world is whole and there's a family waiting for him.





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> **About this fic-** Basically, a Dick Grayson from some random universe ends up jumping to another Earth, since his has been all but destroyed.
> 
> And he ends up having to adjust to life on another world with a different Bruce and a bunch of other kids that the Bat _apparently_ adopted.
> 
> Not to mention the effects on the young teenager's mind from watching his world crumble before him.
> 
> **Disclaimer-** Na-na-na-na-not-mine!

**Dick’s Perspective-**

He was running.

He was _always_ running.

He never _stopped_ running.

Robin pushed himself to go faster, his legs burning with his lungs and his dislocated shoulder aching with every jostled step he took. But he couldn’t stop moving, the moment you stopped moving you were _dead_.

That is something that Dick had learned rather quickly. If you don’t make the first move, if you aren’t three steps ahead at _all times,_ then you might as well take a knife to your own throat. Because in this world, if you aren’t prepared for the _worst,_ then you aren’t prepared at all.

Robin turned sharply, throwing a Batarang in his enemy’s direction, and taking off into the shadowed night again as he heard the weapon explode with a few quick beeps.

Dick’s vision was blurring, his lungs heaving, and his pulse rapidly beating, he couldn’t do this much longer. His body was going to give up on him soon, and then that would be it.

How long had he been fighting? Days? Weeks? He wasn’t sure anymore. Everything had become a blur after Bruce…after Bruce--

He wasn’t thinking about that now, Dick wouldn’t allow himself to think about it, letting his emotions cloud his mind would ruin his judgment and make him sloppy. The time to deal with his feelings was definitely _not_ while he was running for his life with only a handful of weapons left. That was the sort of thing that would end up getting Robin killed.

Just like the rest of them.

Just like Wally.

Just like Clark.

Just like Bru--

Dick’s body is thrown forward without warning, something wrapping its way around his chest, and pinning his arms to his sides as he loses his balance and falls to the cold ground with a choked off yelp.

The teen struggles for a moment before slicing through the cables with a twist of a Batarang, freeing himself from the trap and then racing forward again.

_Don’t stop moving._

_Never stop moving._

They were right behind Robin now, he could hear the clicking of their boots, the whirring of their alien weapons, and the panting of one of their animal-like creations sniffing him out like the hunted prey that he is.

It was all too familiar. Dick running through the dark, bleeding and hurt, praying that he would find some sort of escape before they could catch him.

But he wouldn’t get away this time.

Because Robin must have been one of the last ones. Wasn’t he? Most of the heroes were all dead by now. And so, Dick was alone in this, there wasn’t anyone to call, there wasn’t anyone to rely on or wait for. Because Robin was one of the (if not The _Only)_ last survivors.

And pretty soon he wouldn’t even be here to claim that title. 

This had all started a year ago, ( _god,_ had it only been a year?) the Invaders had come like a mist in the middle of the night. There had been no warning, no time to make plans or to be diplomatic. No one had seen them coming, and by the time everyone realized what was going on, it had been too late.

It was a massacre, one that Dick didn’t want to get into. A slaughter that should be left undetailed for sake of his sanity. It was a holocaust that would haunt Dick for the rest of his life. Though it seemed his life would only last another few hours or so, so that wasn’t saying much. 

The alien’s tactics were logical and dealt out with precision, nothing happened without cause, and everything happened according to their plans.

When the heroes were out trying to stop one disaster from happening, another would accrue. The Invaders had gone after the crops, burning down any form of nature and leaving the Earth scarred. Then it had been the water, even touching it was asking for death.

Most people died after that.

But then the creatures had started to come. The aliens themselves had not been seen before, but then they and their rabid animal-like creations came down to the land and picked off the remaining people one by one. It had all happened so fast. And there were just so many, _so many_ of them, at that point there was no saving the world.

It was just about saving _yourself._

Once most normal people were picked off, The Hunt began.

The aliens seemed to think all the Superheroes were amusing to fight. Most had already died in the war, but still, some heroes remained. And those were the heroes that were left trying to survive while being hunted down for the kill.

That’s where Dick was left now; being chased down and never knowing what the next day might hold.

The teenager had no clue where he even was, somewhere in the United States was the extent of his knowledge. Dick had no idea what day or month it even was anymore, it was hard to keep track of when you were constantly on the move without any real form of technology. (Not that knowing the day of the week or the date would _help_ Dick in any way shape or form, that would have been more for his minds sake than anything else)

Buildings were left falling apart and crumbling down, cities destroyed (including Gotham) and skyscrapers nothing more than glass and ash. But there were no forests or woods either, it had been months since Dick had last seen a blade of grass or an animal even. So, there was no hiding in nature. Not anymore.

The alien creatures would be able to sniff him out even if Robin did take a chance and go to camp out in the mountains or something similar, though. His best bet was to hide in the rubble of cities using his training from Batman and the carnage and landscape as a way of hiding, and then just hope that he could outmaneuver the aliens.

It had been easier when Batman had still been with him. Robin and Batman could watch out for one another, build tech with what they could find and gather what they needed in order to plan and survive in this broken world.

But Bruce was gone now.

Dead.

Just like everyone else that Dick cared about.

Robin launched himself out of the crumbling side of a building and tucked his body into a roll before landing on the rooftop of the next skyscraper. Robin forced his eyes to look ahead and not on how high up he was. Dick wasn’t afraid of heights, not _usually_ at least, but being what must have been hundreds of feet up in the air with no grapple to save him if he _should_ fall, was something that left the teen with butterflies in his stomach and tingling fingers.

There was a loud snarl from behind Robin and the teenager forced his legs to go faster. He hadn’t gotten a good glance at the creature, but it looked to be the size of a bear and Dick had no desires to fight the thing, he’d have to be a complete idiot to think he could come out of _that_ fight the victor.

Robin turned abruptly, Batman’s cape flapping out behind him in ruined strips, -Bruce had given it to him for warmth the night before they had been attacked. The night before Bruce _died_ protecting Dick- The teen was headed for the next building, aiming himself for a shattered window a few stories down, when something sliced through his tunic and right side.

Robin cried out as the knife cut over his ribs, squeezing his eyes shut as he and the blade landed inside of the office building with a roll. Dick pressed a hand to the wound, ignoring the feeling of sticky blood coating his fingers as he crawled over and grabbed the discarded blade hurriedly.

Dick was going to die. If not by the aliens hunting him down, then from blood loss. It was a done deal now. But just because Dick was _going_ to die didn’t mean he was going to take it without a fight.

The blade didn’t fit in his palm well, made for creatures with very different hands, and his fingers trembled as he clutched it. His nerves were frayed, and his body was more on edge than it had ever been. But Robin forced himself to hide in the shadows, to go on the offensive instead of the defensive.

There was no running anymore, he was perfect pray to track at this point, bleeding and wheezing, desperate and alone. So, Robin’s only option was to attack first, he doubted he would win, _he’d be a moron if the thought even crossed his mind_. But these were the things that took away his world, took away his friends, took away his _family_ \- Robin would be damned if he died laying down.

With a gurgled roar the large alien creature landed in front of Robin. Dick had a clear view of it now, it looked to be a mix between a dog and a bear, but its skin was shiny and oily, like blubber. It was down on all fours, its sharp jagged teeth dripping saliva and waiting to dig into Dick’s flesh.

Out of all the ways that Robin had thought he was going to die, this had not been it.

A year ago, his nightmares of dying had had a bit more _purple_ and _green_ in them, and a not once had he ever dreamt about an alien animal eating him alive. But that was life for’ya, _always gotta throw a curveball._

Robin shifted, moving his legs and trying to get into a fighting stance. But it was hard when he was shaking so violently. Dick could admit to being scared, it was his human right to be scared in the face of death, he was only fourteen after all.

But just because he was scared didn’t mean he couldn’t also be brave.

With a cry of rage and desperation, Robin charged forward, the beast did as well, it’s roar overshadowing Dick’s yell four times over, it made the teenager’s ears ring and his skin crawl being so close to what he knew was going to kill him.

But Robin could do this.

_Dick_ could do this.

He would.

For Batman.

For _Bruce._

Robin let go of his bleeding side and held onto the blade with both hands, letting his boots slam against the tiled floor as he ran forward. And then the monster pounced for him, using its backward-facing hind legs to launch itself into the air with another gurgled screech.

But that is where the creature had made a mistake. (Because while these things might be terrifying, they weren’t all that _bright,_ it was just an animal after all)

This is where Robin saw his opening, the monster’s underside exposed as it reached out for the teenager with sharp claws. Robin let himself skid forward onto his back, forcing himself to ignore the pain that caused. Dick pointed the knife up and slashed at the creature’s belly as he slid under it.

The monster screamed once again before kicking at Dick, but the teen rolled out of the way, jostling his dislocated shoulder as he jumped back to his feet and nearly tripped over the too long cape.

Everything hurt.

_Well, that was putting it lightly._

Dick’s body has been tired and worn for so long now he no longer remembered what it felt like to _not_ be exhausted. His mind was always on high alert, constantly ready to jump up and book-it at a moment’s notice. And his heart was torn and ripped to shreds, the year leaving Robin broken in more ways than one.

So yes, to sum up in a few words that did not convey how Dick felt in any measure, ‘ _everything hurt’._

The monster rolled to the side with another gurgle, this noise sounding wounded and panted out. Maybe Dick had nicked something vital, he sure hoped so. Even if he didn’t get out of this, then at least he had taken away one of the Invader’s _pets._

A moment later three more figures rolled into the room and up to their feet effortlessly, these ones looking more humanoid, their limbs tall and gangly, small like tree branches but somehow strong enough to break bone (Robin knew this from _experience)_ their faces all hidden away with large masks that lit up in a dark purple that illuminated their hooded heads, the dark fabric obscuring any other features from Robin’s eyes.

Dick’s breath shuttered from his chest, the prickly sting of fear making his body feel jittery and his skin too tight. The _aliens,_ the _Invaders._ They were here, and they were ready, the chase was finally coming to an end. This was all a game to them, _all of it,_ that’s why life was expendable, that’s why they didn’t end this like they could have weeks ago, they took their time playing around with Dick, because he was nothing more than a _prize_ to them, and unfortunately for Robin, he was about to be claimed.

The animal-like creature still lay on the floor, a puddle of purple-ish black seeping from where Robin had cut it, it withered and gurgled a bit more as its masters came into view. Twitching and struggling to get the alien’s attention.

But save for the creatures harsh breathing and whines, the room was silent and eerie. The Invaders never looking away from Robin, and Robin to afraid to look anywhere else.

Dick had never heard the aliens speak, no one had. Not once in this whole year of hell had he heard one word, or even a sound come from them. He used to wonder if they were mute, without voices or the capacity, but _really,_ if Dick thought about it, it was probably just another scare tactic. The aliens were already ninja-like, stealthy and flexible, adding on the fact that they were silent just made them all the more deadly.

All the more terrifying.

Robin shifted, getting ready for an attack or maybe to run, should _he_ make the first move? They probably wouldn’t expect that; up until this point Robin’s plan had been to evade and avoid. Dick wasn’t sure what he wanted to do now that he was in this standoff. _Prolong his life by a few more agonizing hours of chase or get it over with now?_

Ah, such _lovely_ options.

The Invader in the middle walked up slowly, reaching for something on its back, and allowing Robin to see it’s backward-facing elbows and three long fingers- sharp and jagged digits slow and calculating -as it clasped the handle of its spear, before pulling out the weapon and pointing it in the boy’s direction.

The teen froze, swallowing down the ever-growing lump in his throat as he waited, he was halfway across the room, a good chunk of space between him and his attackers, but that meant nothing, the aliens were fast, faster than any human, _let alone Dick_ , could ever strive to be.

The Invader took a step forward then, and Robin had to clench down every muscle in his body in order not to take a step backward in reply. The monster gurgled and moaned down on the floor again, and suddenly the alien twirled the spear around its three fingers before clasping it with both hands, jamming the end of the weapon into the creature’s head without any warning whatsoever.

Dick’s mouth went dry as his heartrate picked up, the boy watched the puddle of what must be blood begin to spread from the now _lifeless_ creature sprawled out on the floor. It was chilling to see that the Invaders didn’t so much as care for their own creations.

It was a reminder to Robin of just how _evil_ and _emotionless_ these aliens were, how, given the chance, they would kill Dick without so much as a single thought. There would be no hesitance, no apathy, no concern, it would be quick and painful, just like it had been with everyone else.

And that’s when Dick decided he did not want to die here next to the dead blubber monster.

No, not if he had something to say about it.

Robin reached into his utility belt as quickly as he could, causing the aliens to dash forward at a sprint. The boy threw down his last smoke-pellet and propelled himself to an open door in one swift move. Running as fast as he could without making a sound.  

Dick placed one hand over his bleeding side and his other over his heaving mouth as he turned another corner, he needed to be stealthy and listen, now that the monster was dead there was nothing to let Robin know the aliens were approaching, they were just so noiseless, like leaves blowing in the wind or feathers falling from the sky.

Robin twisted from one hallway into another, his legs shaking from too much exertion, his heart pounding with fear-induced adrenaline. He knew they were playing with him. The aliens probably thought this was even more amusing, they were in a game of cat and mouse in a maze of a broken building, and they knew they had Robin trapped and terrified.

It was the perfect playing ground.

The teenager’s only chance was to hide, without their monster to sniff him out he may be able to buy himself some time. But really that was wishful thinking, any amount of time that Dick could steal was limited and ticking down.

After running up a few flights of stairs Robin found an air vent big enough for him to squeeze into, the cold metal walls pressing in all around him as he lodged himself forward with kicking feet.

This was a dumb place to hide, (Batman wouldn’t have been pleased) once they found him, there was nowhere Dick could go, he had essentially _trapped_ himself.

But that wasn’t why Robin needed to hide, he knew he only had minutes left, knew he was going to be found. But he had one last thing he needed to do before the aliens claimed him as their next victim.

It took a moment for Dick to find what he was looking for in his utility belt, his fingers trembling and his body turned at an odd angle. But after a second the teenager was able to pull out a small round device, it was glowing faintly with a chunk of kryptonite, (it’s power source) and it had one faintly yellow button on the top.

Robin clutched it to his chest, staring at the button with wide eyes.

Batman had given this to Robin months ago, and when Dick had asked what it did, Bruce had only said it was a _Last Resort_ , that Dick was to _only_ use it in a situation he couldn’t get out of.

Then Bruce had given Dick a small hard-drive, telling the boy to keep it _no matter what,_ Dick had thought about pointing out the obvious- the world was without power, making the hard-drive _useless_ now. But instead of arguing he had just placed both the device and the drive in his belt, keeping them there safely, because Bruce had said to, and Dick would never disobey Bruce, _not even in death._

Robin looked at the device, having no idea what it might do, he doubted that it could get him out of this situation, how could it? He was trapped in an air vent with three Invaders hunting him down. There was no escaping that. The teen licked his lips uncertainly, his shaking thumb hovering over the button.

What if it was a bomb?

What if he blew himself up?

Would that be a better alternative?

Is that why Bruce hadn’t told him what it did?

Suddenly there was a scratching scraping sound against the walls, making Robin flinch as he cut off the yelp that almost escaped his lips. The scraping soon turned into a pounding that vibrated up the walls and into Robin’s bones, it turned rhythmic a moment later, as if the aliens were _chanting_ at Dick, announcing that they had _found him_ and that his life was now _over._

The teenager jumped in shock as a spear popped up next to him, scraping against the metal of the vent before ripping back out and plunging itself back in again, closer to Robin this time.

Dick sucked in a startled breath, he needed to act _now,_ biting his lip and closing his burning eyes, Dick pressed down on the button.

A high-pitched sound suddenly erupted into the air, the noise making the teen clench his teeth in pain, and then with a flash of light that stung Robin’s eyes, and a tingly feeling that spread over Dick’s whole body he suddenly had the feeling of _dropping._

Dick rapidly blinked the spots out of his eyes as he felt wind enveloped his whole body, only to find himself _actually_ _free-falling_ next to a skyscraper.

Robin’s breath caught in his throat as he frantically scrambled for something to do.

The teen searched through his two utility belts (he had begun wearing three when the war started, but a few months ago, the aliens had managed to cut one off, leaving Robin with only two)

After a few panicked moments, Dick was able to find a cable attached to a Batarang, turning himself so he was facing upward slightly Robin threw the Batarang at a gargoyle, the cord wrapping around the head of the statue and sending the teenager swinging forward abruptly.  

Unfortunately, the momentum was too fast, the cord suddenly pulling taught, causing Robin to cry out as it ripped at his dislocated shoulder and cut side. Before Dick could do anything to rectify himself, he was sent sprawling to another rooftop. The wind knocked from his lungs and his head smacking into the concrete with a wet _‘thunk’_.

Sharp pain shot through Dick’s head before his whole body started to burn with an all-encompassing ache, the teen thought he might have given a wheezed shout of shock and agony at that. But it was hard to tell when the world was already fading into nothing but blackness.

* * *

There were hands on him, someone talking above Dick, but he couldn’t make out the words. Something pressed against his hurt side and Dick couldn’t help the cry of pain that left his lips. The boy tried batting at the person urging them to just _go away._

But the person didn’t get the message, or, maybe they chose to ignore it as they pressed on Dick’s side _harder_ after a moment, making Dick feel like he was going to throw up from the jolt of fiery agony that brought on.

The teen choked on his next breath, his air stuttering out of his chest before he let himself drift away again.

* * *

Dick had the far-off feeling of something vibrating under his back. The buzz of an engine humming around him. He tried to blink his eyes open, only managing to crack open his left, his right eye glued shut by something.

His head was pounding, and his body thrummed with a deep ache that Dick didn’t understand.

“Hey!” someone said, their voice sounded muffled to Dick’s ears. “Yo-’re  --ake!” Their words were cutting in and out, did words always do that? Dick didn’t think so.

“-need you -- sta- a--ke for me kid,” they said a moment later.

Dick wanted to comply, he really did, the person sounded concerned, and Dick didn’t want to make them worry even more. But his head hurt, and the vibration of what Dick now figured out was a _car-_  was lolling him back to sleep.

He’d just have to apologize to the person later.

* * *

When Dick next opened his eyes, it was to the dark ceiling of a cave.

He squinted up at it for a moment, his brain foggy, and his body oddly numb. Had he found a cave to hide in? He didn’t remember finding a cave. The last he remembered…hadn’t he been running from the Invaders? In a city, somewhere?

Dick turned his head slowly, finding that his body was on something soft, and there was a light rhythmic beeping sound coming from the side. Wait…was he…was he on a _bed?!_

Dick tried to sit up in his confusion, but something was keeping him pinned down.

“Don’t move you’re severely injured,” someone said from the shadows. Dick gave a start, the action hurting his head. What was going on?

“W’ere m _’I?”_ he slurred at the person, glaring at the spot he thought they might be. It was hard to tell, everything was dark, and Dick didn’t think his right eye was actually open. His brain was sluggish and foggy, making the teen’s thoughts hard to keep track of, leaving him confused and disoriented.

“Med bay,” the person, ( _man_ , it was a man, Dick’s brain was coherent enough to supply that fact) replied simply.

The boy hummed in acknowledgment, licking at his dried lips while he thought those words over, tasting the tang of blood on his tongue as he did so.

Dick blinked his good eye a few more times, trying to look through the dark, but it was like a thick black blanket, not letting him see anything.

“Can you tell me your name?” the man asked.

Dick’s eyebrows scrunched for a moment, making him wince, the man’s voice sounded so familiar. Almost like…almost like-

“Dick,” he slurred out, his tongue felt too big in his mouth, making it difficult to talk. “We in’a cave?” he asked, Dick’s senses were slowly coming back to him, and he could just make out the sound of an overhead bat, the smell of dust and wet rock.

It reminded him of better days, days where he had worn yellow, red, and green, days when those colors had _meant_ something.

“Dick,” the man’s voice was a bit softer now like he was using less of a growl, “can you tell me what you last remember?” he asked.

Dick wished he could see the other, he would feel better talking to a face and not just to the shadows.

“S’was runnin’ from- from _Invaders_ ,” the boy rasped, feeling his chest hitch slightly at the memory.

Who was this man? And why did he sound so much like… _like_ -

“An’ I…” Dick looked back up to the cave ceiling, just barely being able to make out some sharp pointed rocks up there. He was rattling his brain to make sense of what had happened after he had pressed that button, but Dick still couldn’t make sense of it.

“I don’ know...” he finally settled on. “I was jus’ fallin’. An’, uh, think I have a con’cussion.”

There was the shifting of fabric as if the man had moved closer. “You’re right. You’re very badly hurt,” he said, his voice still soft. Before he moved close enough that Dick could finally see a silhouette. “I need to show you something, Dick.”

Dick felt himself tense, his body disliking the action and making him clench his teeth against the pain. But before he could ask what the man was planning on _showing_ him, something was being set down on his lap.

Dick blinked down at the object before it lit up, showing the square outline of a laptop. Dick felt his mouth hang open slightly in shock, he hadn’t seen a functioning electronic in months.

“…h _ow-”_ Dick started.

“Do you remember the hard drive that was hidden in your utility belt?” The man cut him off before he could ask his question.

Dick still couldn’t see the man’s face, just the fingers of his right hand that was resting on one of the keys on the laptop. “ _Yes?”_ he answered, confused, “How do you-” And again, before Dick could voice his question he was interrupted.

But this time, not by the man, but by the _laptop_.

The screen showed a bit of static for a moment, the sound hurting Dick’s ears, but drawing his attention. And then there was the face of the man that Dick missed _every_ day, the face of a man who had _saved_ him, who had _protected_ him.

It was the face of Bruce.

Dick made a little-choked sound from the back of his throat at the same time Bruce started to speak.

“Dick, if you are watching this, then I assume you used the device I gave you,” Bruce on the screen said, “when I gave it to you, I refused to tell you what exactly the device did. But I’m going to tell you now.”

Dick could feel his good eye burning, his heart felt like an over-inflated balloon in his chest, _expanding_ and _expanding_ , pressing against his ribcage painfully.

Dick had never thought he would see Bruce again, he still hadn’t even been allowed to mourn the man, too busy running for his life to be able to sit down and sob over the death of his second father.

It was a huge injustice, but it was one that Dick had lived with up until this point.

“When I knew there was nothing we could do to save our world,” Bruce went on, looking sad and worn, just like Dick knew _he_ must have looked over this past year. “I began building a device that could teleport a single individual to another universe. It took time, months of searching for the right materials. But once I figured out I could use my shard of kryptonite as a power scours it was done.”

Dick felt his murky brain begin to understand, and he waited with baited breath for his suspicion to be confirmed, his insides burning with anticipation. 

“I had to find an alternate universe that you could safely live in. But I had to be sure that wherever I sent you, your presence wouldn’t send the other reality out of balance or spiraling apart.”

Dick bit his lip, he knew how alternate realities worked. The Justice League had to deal with them from time to time and Batman had explained them to Robin in great detail.

“I, of course, had a few other Earths in mind, and if I’m right, the alternate reality you are now currently in shouldn’t be altered by your presence.

Their world is different enough from our own that you being there shouldn’t affect anything other than their timeline. And timelines be _damned-_  if I could go back in time and fix our world before the attack came…I _would_. But it’s too late for me to save our Earth, but it isn’t too late for me to save _you_ , Dick.”

Dick bit his lip harder, trying to make it stop it’s trembling. The teen could feel himself beginning to shake with repressed emotions. 

“I don’t know whether you will have used the device while we were separated, or if I will have already been gone.” Something shifted behind Bruce on the screen, and the man looked back for a slight moment, letting Dick see his own sleeping form in the video.

“But I promise you kiddo, I am glad and relieved that you did use the device. I wouldn’t have been able to come with you, either way, I was unable to find an alternate reality that you and I _both_ could live in without the other universe unraveling. And _you_ are my only priority, Dick.” Bruce showed a fond smile then, a rarer thing that some people would never see, though it was tainted with sadness.

“I didn’t tell you, because I know that you wouldn’t have agreed with the plan, and I wasn’t going to take the chance of you refusing to use it.” Bruce let out a large sigh then, looking at the recording device and then the asleep Dick behind him. “I hope that you will look at this as a second chance Dick. Because if anyone deserves to have a long and full life it’s you, kiddo.” The asleep Dick was starting to stir, and Dick could tell that Bruce was about to end the video.

“My only request, Dick,” Bruce began, “is that you grow into the admirable and courageous man and hero that I have always known you were going to be.” Dick’s chest hitched with a surprised sob, a hot tear spilling onto his cheek from his good eye.

“You are the bright light to my darkness,” Bruce gave a small smile there, it made Dick’s chest expand with even more sorrow, “goodbye, my Robin.”

And with that, the screen went black. 

And Dick felt himself fall apart.

* * *

The next time Dick woke up there was enough light to see by.

The teen groaned, trying to turn into a more comfortable position and not being able to. Dick glanced down, seeing that there was a strap over his torso to keep him in place, his breath gave a slight hitch at seeing the restraint, but before he could begin to try freeing himself a voice spoke up.

“Let me get that for you.”

Dick’s head snapped to the side, finding a man sitting next to him, this one not sounding the same as the man that had been with Dick before.

“It was just to keep you in place while you slept, your shoulder is really messed up,” the man informed Dick.  

The guy unbuckled the strap and pressed a button to let Dick sit up more fully. Dick watched him for a moment, but he couldn’t see too many details of the others face, not with the shadows the bedside lamp was making.

Gnawing at his lip as he thought about everything that had occurred last he was awake, Dick finally asked, “what happened?” his voice soft, but no longer slurred, that was a good sign.

“You, uh, went into shock after…” The man waved an arm around in gesture, “… _everything_. And well. Bruce decided that maybe the first thing that you wake up to _shouldn’t_ be a familiar face.” The guy gave a slight smile at that- like he was making a joke, Dick didn’t get it.

“How are’ya feelin’?” the dude asked a moment later, and Dick tried once again to see the others face more clearly, but it was hard to do in the dark and with only one eye to see by. Especially when the man was making no effort to come into the light at all. 

Dick hummed, “mentally, emotionally, or physically?” he asked back, “because the answer for all of the above would have me sayin’ things Alfred would wash my mouth out with soap for.”

The man gave a startled laugh, leaning back in the chair and even more out of the light. Dick was starting to think that was intentional. “Ah, so Alfred never changes, no matter what universe.”

At that Dick looked down at his lap, two of his fingers were wrapped with white bandages, he wondered if he had broken them, he didn’t _remember_ doing anything to them, but Dick didn’t remember a lot of things that happened while being hunted by the Invaders.

“Are you guys going to send me back?” Dick asked, not bothering to look away from his hands.

“Well…” the man began, his voice sounded light and conversational, it helped put Dick’s mind at ease, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Maybe it was because chatting instead of delving into a real discussion was easier on the teen’s brain. Dick didn’t think he could handle having to figure out this whole situation right now.

That would be a problem for tomorrow's Dick. 

“Your Bruce made sure to cover all his tracks,” the man went on, “so unless you told us _exactly_ what alternate reality you are from, there is very little chance we would find it,” a pause, “at least not for a while.”

At those words, Dick looked up at the man, feeling a slight bit of panic tugging in his chest.

“But,” the guy began, “I doubt that Bruce would even _consider_ it. And if he did, _I_ along with a few others would all kick his butt, so, you’re good.”

Dick was the one surprised into a laugh this time, feeling his ribs give a jolt with it. He didn’t think he had ever heard anyone say they would willingly try to kick Bruce’s butt for his sake. 

“And who are you to Bruce?” the teenager asked the man.

There were bigger questions, ones about where Dick would go; if he would stay in Gotham or be sent off; there were questions about this world, and how different it was from his own, but those bigger questions could wait for right now.

“Uh,” the man made an unsure sound, “I’m his…I’m his son,” he finally said.

Dick took in a breath through his nose, squeezing his hurt fingers into a fist to ground himself with a slight bit of pain. “Oh?” he tried to keep his tone light, wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

“His… his _real_ son?” Dick asked, it was weird how unsettled the thought of Bruce having _real_ children made Dick feel, but that was a stupid thing to feel when they weren’t even talking about _his_ Bruce.

“Uh, no I’m adopted,” the stranger said, shifting like this subject made him feel just as uncomfortable as it made Dick. “Bruce ended up adopting a few kids actually,” he went on, sounding almost fond as he said the last part.

“Did he…” Dick began but had to stop himself, swallowing down some of the emotions that were clogging his throat. He tried again, “did he ever adopt a _Dick Grayson?”_ he couldn’t help but ask, he wasn’t even sure what answer he was hoping for.

There probably wasn’t a right answer to that question really.

On this world, maybe the Flying Grayson’s had never died. Maybe that’s why Dick could be here with this Bruce without it making a difference. Because this world’s Dick was still with his parents at the circus.

Then there was also the possibility that his parents had still died, but that Bruce Wayne had never adopted this world’s Dick. (That thought made Dick feel a little sick)

There was also the chance that this world’s Dick had died. Maybe on the job as Robin or maybe even back at the circus with his mom and dad.

And then, of course, there was the option that this Bruce Wayne had adopted this world’s Dick Grayson, just like Bruce had done for Dick back on his own world.

And well, there were many, many, different possibilities and realities that Dick probably couldn’t even begin to imagine. And honestly, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear from this man.

There was a moment’s pause from the guy at the question. Only the beeping of Dick’s heart monitor in the background and the flutter of the all familiar bats. (Dick hadn’t even thought about the fact that he was in the _Batcave_ , it made his stomach knot up with grief)

“…Yes,” the man finally said, “yes he did.”

Dick nodded, worrying on his lip as he bunched some of the sheets in his hands. That… that was good. Dick was glad that this world’s Dick had also gotten all the chances he had had.

However, that meant there was already a Dick here, and apparently _other_ kids as well. Which meant they couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ take Dick in, because…because they already _had_ a Dick. They didn’t need another, he would just be an intruder to their family.

“Oh,” he choked out, there was nothing for him to say.

“He was the first kid Bruce took in actually,” the man said after a moment, his tone was a bit gentler now as if he knew what Dick was thinking. “So, that had to be… _wow,_ fifteen years ago.” He clicked his tongue at that, wiggling in his seat again as if just realizing the fact.

“ _Fifteen_ years ago?” Dick wondered aloud. “So…so your guy’s Dick…he grew up,” he said, almost to himself.

So, the other Dick Grayson, he wasn’t a kid like Dick was, he was an adult, all grown up.

“Hey kid,” the man whispered, Dick looked over to him, his mind swirling around with so much shock and confusion he didn’t even know what to do with himself. Dick hadn’t considered the chance that this world’s timeline was different from his own.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” the stranger said, his words filled with sincerity as he leaned a little closer in his chair.

Dick looked back up to the ceiling as he made a choked noise of disagreement, “yeah?” he asked, his throat filled with emotion, and _darn it_ \- he didn’t want to cry, he _didn’t!_ “Me just being here already threw off your guy’s timeline, Bruce isn’t gonna want me around.”

The man was silent for a moment, and Dick thought he had trumped him, that the man couldn’t deny his words and so he wasn’t going to even bother answering.

But then he said, “I doubt that our Bruce is very different from yours. So tell me, Dick, does that sound like something Bruce would do?”

Dick continued to stare up at the ceiling, his whole body felt off, or maybe that was just his mind.

“…I… _no?”_ He wasn’t sure. It depended, Batman sometimes did things that people disagreed with, he did whatever it took to make sure things worked out for the greater good. But when the cowl was off, when you were talking about his personal life, the man under the mask could surprise you.

“Well, maybe you’ll just have to talk to Bruce,” the stranger said.

Dick really wanted to know his name, they had been talking for a while now, and whoever this guy was seemed to think he knew Bruce really well.

“But for right now, are you hungry, kiddo?”

Dick gave a wan smiled, glancing away from the ceiling and over to the man sitting across from him. “I haven’t had Alfred’s cooking in over a year, of _course_ I’m hungry.”

It felt nice to talk to another person, to just have a conversation and know that someone was listening, that someone was hearing him. Dick hadn’t talked to another human in weeks, and the loneliness had started to gnaw at him, had begun to pick at his mind.

The man stood, smacking his palms to his thighs as he began to walk out of the room. “Well then you have a lot of time to make up for,” he said, the smile evident in his tone, “I’ll go grab Al,” he stated before he walked out of the room.

Dick’s head still felt fuzzy, if that was from the drugs he was surely on or his concussion than he didn’t know. But it was making him feel tired and drained.

The teen closed his left eye before bringing up his hand and gently probing at his right. A small hiss passed the boy’s lips as he felt the puffy flesh there.

Awe, so it was swollen shut then.

That made sense.

The teen let his hand fall back on the bed a moment later, breathing out a large sigh as he reopened his eye. It was still too dark to see any detail, but now that Dick knew what to look for he could clearly tell that he was in the Batcave’s medical section.

A small huff of disbelief left Dick as he rolled his head to the side so he could glance over at his vitals. A lot of what was there didn’t make sense to Dick, but he could see that his blood levels were low, so were his oxygen and BMP leaves.

Which made sense, he had lost a lot of blood and Dick hadn’t eaten in, well…he couldn’t remember.

But that should speak for itself.

There was also an IV in his arm and a Band-Aid on his opposite elbow (which had a Superman symbol on it, to the teen’s amusement) letting Dick know that something else had been administered into that arm, probably a transfusion.

Dick refrained from picking at the Band-Aid. Instead, running his fingers over the white sheets and then the soft fabric of the dark blue blanket that was draped over him.

“Hello, young sir.”

Dick’s head whipped up as he heard the all too familiar voice. He hadn’t even noticed Alfred until the man spoke up.

“ _Alfred,_ ” he choked, his voice not sounding like his own, it was too needy, too childish.

“Master Dick,” Alfred greeted again, walking up with a silver tray and setting it down by the lamp before he pulled a chair up and sat down next to Dick’s bedside. “How are you doing my dear boy?”

Dick leaned forward, reaching out with his good arm. He knew that this wasn’t _his_ Alfred, knew that this man didn’t remember him, didn’t know him. (Well…not the _him him_ ) But that didn’t matter, because it was still _Alfred_ , and Dick hadn’t seen Alfred since his Gotham had been decimated.

“I _missed_ you,” he told the man, his voice dripping with grief.

And Alfred, bless the old man, didn’t comment on the fact that it was not _him_ , that Dick missed, he just simply took Dick’s outstretched hand in his own and patted the boy on the back with his other white-gloved hand.

Responding, “and I you, Master Dick.”

At the Butler’s words Dick made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he sniffed.

This was ridiculous,

_Dick_ was being ridiculous.

This was _not_ his Alfred, it wasn’t; but it felt like it was his Alfred, his grandfather figure. The way the man spoke to him, or how he smelt of lemon wood-finisher. It was all so deeply reminiscent of the Butler that Dick’s head was spinning.

“I am glad to see you awake, we’ve been worried,” Alfred told him.

This Alfred was older, it was apparent, the worry lines by his mouth deeper, and the crow’s-feet by his eyes more pronounced, it made Dick wonder what year it was here, if this was years in the future or if in this universe everyone was simply born in a different year.  

Dick forced himself to sit upright and take his hand back. “How long have I been here?” Dick asked, opting yet again to ask one of the simpler questions rather than delving into anything too large or stressful.

“Master Timothy found you fifty-three hours ago.” Alfred told him, “you were in a dreadful state. I almost called Ms. Thompkins, but Master Bruce thought it best that we keep your presence to ourselves until we knew the exact circumstances.”

Dick nodded, biting at his lip as he thought that statement over; because honestly there were many things the teen could analyze from what Alfred had just told him, but what Dick settled on was- “so is _Timothy_ one of Bruce’s kids?”

Alfred hummed, nodding as he began grabbing something off of the tray sitting next to him. “Yes, though Master Tim does not reside at the manor currently,” he informed, before he asked, “I assume that chocolate chip is still your favorite Master Dick?”

Dick blinked at the man, “Uh, yes,” he mumbled absently, “Alfred, how many kids does Bruce have?”

Alfred grabbed the lid off of the plate of cookies, the smell made Dick’s mouth water, his head buzzing with the mere sweetness in the air.

“Master Bruce has taken many children under his wing over the years,” Alfred stated as he let Dick grab a cookie from the pile. “He has adopted three young men as well as a young woman, and another son biologically.”

Dick hummed as he bit into the cookie, letting his eye fall closed as the warm chocolate chips melted over his tongue. “Will you tell me about them?” the teen asked after he swallowed his bite.

Alfred gave a slight smile, grabbing a glass of milk and handing it to Dick. “For each bite you take, I will tell you of one of Master Bruce’s children,” he stated simply.

Dick chuckled, sipping at the milk, and feeling that ball in his chest unravels ever so slightly. “You gotta deal Alfie.”

* * *

When Dick’s stomach started to protest the sugar from the cookies and his one eye began to close of its own accord, Alfred had smoothed down the teen’s unruly hair and told him that he needed his rest.

Dick had wanted to hear more about this world’s _Robins_.

Because there were _multiple_ here, and they all sounded so different from one another and yet they all worked well with Batman.

It had boggled Dick’s mind at first, hearing that on this world _he_ (the other Dick) wasn’t Robin anymore, he hadn’t been for _years_ , and four other people have taken up the mantle of Robin in his place.

Dick had had to ignore that irritating knife of grief that had stabbed his chest at hearing the news. It was hard to picture other people wearing _his_ colors, using _his_ name.

Dick had to remind himself, that in _this_ world, they didn’t belong to him anymore. And therefore, it wasn’t his place to grieve the loss of them.

Dick had relented to going back to sleep, with the promise that Alfred would have some of his world-famous chicken noodle soup (it wasn’t world-famous, but Dick thought it _should be_ ) ready for him, and that the two of them could chat over some tea.

Dick had felt a bubble of warmth at that idea and let the man retreat back upstairs after that.

And with all the drugs and new information floating around in Dick’s head, it hadn’t taken long for the teenager to fall asleep.

* * *

Waking up wasn’t hard.

It was opening his eye that was difficult.

Because Dick knew what he would see- no, not ‘what’, _who_ , he knew _who_ he would see- when he opened up his eyes.

He could feel the man’s presence, it didn’t matter where Dick was, or what universe he might be in, Bruce’s presence would always feel the same to the teenager.

It would always feel heavy and thick, but in a good way, it was a pillar for Dick to lean on, a strong thing for him to latch onto.

Dick hadn’t felt that since his Bruce had died. The teen had thought (rightly so) that it had been lost to him, that he would no longer have that unrelenting presence to clutch onto.

But the moment he came to, he knew that Bruce was sitting next to him. Waiting for Dick to wake up, so they could talk, so they could _re-meet_.

It wasn’t a weird thing for Dick to wake up and see Bruce at his side. It was something the man always did when the boy got hurt or if he was horribly sick.

It was a comfort for Dick, especially as a kid, to know that when he woke up, Bruce would be there, because Bruce was _always_ there, that was his _job_ , and Bruce took _every_ job seriously.

And that thought shouldn’t have made Dick’s throat clog with some sort of emotion he could only associate with grief. But the fact was, Dick had told himself that these kinds of things would never happen for him again.

He had forced himself to get over the circumstance and move on.

And now, to rouse with Bruce right next to him. Silently doing his vigil, waiting for Dick to wake back up. It was just such a _Bruce thing to do_ , it made the teen’s chest hurt. It was a confusing thing, to be so sad and yet so happy to have this second chance of sorts.

Even if it wasn’t with _his_ Bruce.

Dick held his breath as he opened his eye, willing himself to be calm as he slowly turned his head to the side to face the man, and there he was, sitting in the same chair that Alfred had occupied a few hours ago, Bruce.

It was so very clearly Bruce; the way he was slightly hunched forward with his hands clasped in his lap, how his hair was jelled up to look crisp, how even his black t-shirt and jeans still looked pristine even though they had every right not to be.

He was older than Dick’s Bruce. Not in a way where he was unrecognizable, or that made him look too different. But it was apparent, not that Dick hadn’t expected it, when the teen had seen Alfred he knew that this timeline was different from his own. And he had prepared himself for how Bruce might look, how he might’ve changed.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He was just patiently letting Dick scan him over, giving the teen enough time to process. Which again, was _such a Bruce thing to do_ , to let Dick make the first move, to let him direct how this might go. It gave the fourteen-year-old a sense of control and safety that he hadn’t realized he was missing.

So, releasing the breath that he had still been holding, Dick gave the best smile he could manage, (which was probably really lacking and watery, not to mention his puffy and swollen face, but it would do) before he said in a quiet voice, “hi Bruce.”

“Hi Dick,” Bruce greeted back, his voice just a tad deeper than it should be. He leaned forward, looking slightly hesitant as he placed his hand on top of Dick’s.

Dick blinked some of the extra moisture out of his good eye as he turned his hand over so that it was palm facing up. Bruce’s hand was warm and callused, the man’s far bigger than Dick’s, his fingers long, and a few of his knuckles split, just like Dick remembered.

The teenager couldn’t help but study the skin there, the many scars that lay etched into Bruce’s flesh, some pink and fresh, others almost dulled out of existence. Some not belonging there, other’s the same. Dick ran the tip of his pointer finger over a long scar that went up the length of Bruce’s palm.

Dick’s head was in a continual loop of doubt, excitement, and shock,

_This is real,_

_He’s real,_

_Bruce’s real,_

_Real,_

_ Real, _

**_Real!_ **

The teen’s mind was trying to make sense of everything that was going on. His brain going haywire with disbelief and something akin to relief, the two emotions filling Dick’s body to the brim and making him want to release the feelings in some way; maybe he should laugh, maybe he should cry, but Dick didn’t think he had the energy for either, so he just continued to play with Bruce’s fingers.

And Bruce let him.

Maybe he knew that Dick needed something _solid_ something _real_ to hold onto right now, maybe he knew that Dick was using Bruce to ground himself, maybe he knew that Dick just needed to grasp to him for a while to let it sink in.

Or _maybe_ , maybe Bruce needed to hold Dick’s hand as much and Dick needed to hold _his_.

They sat like that for a while, just letting each other’s presence sink in. Neither said anything, usually, Dick hated the silence, he thought it best to fill it with something, most the time his own chatter. But right now, the silence didn’t feel stifling or intense, it felt safe, it felt like a gift.

But once Dick had traced over the majority of Bruce’s scarred hand, and his breathing evened back out to something less emotional, it was time for the silence to break. And Bruce being _Bruce_ didn’t dottle over small talk or ease his way into the conversation, he delved in, cut right to the chase.

Because that was how Bruce worked.

Because in Bruce’s mind it was illogical not to immediately fix what was in need of _fixing_.

“I’m sure that you’re wondering what will happen with you,” Bruce stated, it was never a question, always a statement phrased like a question.

Dick willed his eyes away from their hands, forced himself to loosen his grip on Bruce’s thumb so the man could pull away, but Bruce didn’t, the man just ran one of his fingers over Dick’s knuckles in a soothing motion, one that Dick had not expected, but appreciated greatly.

“ _I_ …” Dick felt that knot in his chest tighten, he didn’t want to talk about this right now, didn’t need to hear that this Bruce didn’t want him, didn’t _need_ him.

He wanted to stay in this little content pocket of time the two of them have constructed, where he and Bruce could just _be_.

“Yes… _I-_ yes I do,” Dick finally stuttered out, biting at his lip as he studied Bruce’s expression.

Bruce was unreadable to most people, he made it his job to be. But just because the man _himself_ was unreadable, didn’t mean he couldn’t read people.

And Dick despite himself, had always been an open book to Bruce.

Maybe that was because Dick didn’t want to keep secrets from Bruce, maybe that was because Dick trusted Bruce fully, maybe that was because Dick felt if he was open with Bruce, then Bruce would be open with him.

Bruce’s expression shifted, his dark blue eyes softening just a touch, and then he pulled his hand away.

Dick had to fight down the urge to snatch it back, because Dick _knew_ what was happening, Bruce was distancing himself before he gave the bad news, before he told Dick that he would be sent to live away from Gotham, away from Bruce’s new family, away from the Manor, away from Alfred, away from _Bruce._

But before the cold abyss of loss and grief could swallow Dick whole, Bruce leaned up and gently cupped the back of Dick’s head with his large hand, pulling Dick forward until their foreheads touched.

Dick gasped in a small breath, blinking his blue eye at Bruce in surprise.

“You are not being sent off,” Bruce said, his voice low and hushed, only for Dick’s ears to hear. “I would never send you away Dick,” he whispered, his deep blue eyes the only thing that Dick could see in this close proximity.

“But you _already_ have a Dick, you _already_ raised him,” Dick began to protest weakly, his voice watery and strained.

“I would raise you _again_ and _again_ , _over_ and _over_ , and I would do it _happily_ ,” Bruce interrupted, his voice still soft, but indisputable.  

Dick shook his head slightly, random insecurities and anxieties bubbling up, that the teenager hadn’t even realized he was holding until now. “But- but what if I’m not…what if I’m not _like him_ , what if-”

Bruce moved his hand down and out of Dick’s hair to grip the back of the boy’s neck, his fingers squeezing the nape as he stared at Dick unblinking with deep blue eyes that Dick knew so well, that he had seen a _million times_ before.

That apparently, did not change even when in a different universe.

“You don’t need to be anything that you aren’t,” Bruce told Dick, “I will take you as you are,” he made it sound like a _promise_ like a _vow_. Bruce clasped the teen’s neck a little harder, trying to show that he _meant_ what he said, that the declaration wasn’t hollow, that he believed his own words as a _certainty_.

“I am not your Bruce, and you are not my Dick,” Bruce went on.

Dick closed his burning eyes, biting at his trembling bottom lip to keep his emotions at bay.

“But no one is asking us to be,” Bruce whispered, “so, what do you say kiddo, you wanna give this a try?”

Dick made a choked sound, his throat working to unclog itself of his many, many, raging emotions.

The teenager blinked open his eye, looking directly into the blue set in front of him before he nodded, bringing up his unhurt arm and clutching at Bruce’s black t-shirt, fisting the fabric in a desperate way, his fingers shaking.

“Okay Bruce, _okay_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So weird AU. (I had a dream this happened, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here's this fic I guess)
> 
> Now that Dick is here we'll be able to get into the hurt/comfort aspect of things as well as some of his trauma. Which should be interesting.
> 
> But until then, stay whelmed my friends.
> 
> ~Fernandidilly-yo out!


	2. Out of Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So looks like around once monthly updates! (Meant to have this up on Monday, oops) 
> 
> Hope you guys like this one, took me forever to get it done. (So many re-writes ugh)

 

**Dick’s Perspective-**

He doesn’t look the same.

Dick stood in front of his bathroom mirror studying his complexion- not in the normal way a teenage boy might look at his reflection, but in a calculating and meticulous way, one meant to find flaws and differences.

He’s too pale, -his skin, of course, was always going to have a tanned tone to it, being that he was Romani- but this might be the lightest Dick has ever seen his skin, and it made him appear sickly (at least in his opinion) and the teenager didn’t like it _at all._

It also made his bruising look worse than it really was, the bags under his blue eyes a dark purple, and his right eye still pink and puffy with a tint of yellow, but _hey!_ at least Dick could open that eye now.

Small victories.  

He needed a haircut, which wasn’t unexpected, Dick’s hair was definitely the longest the teenager has ever seen it- the term ‘ _mop head’_ was now making a lot more visual sense- his ebony locks shaggy and fluffy from his recent shower.

Which by the way, was like _heaven_ for Dick.

The boy hadn’t had running water for almost a full year, and once his Gotham had been destroyed, it had been random rivers and ponds to wash up in, which had always been a hurried and scary thing. Allowing themselves to be so exposed and vulnerable when the aliens were hunting them down had been something Dick and Bruce did only when _strictly necessary_.

So, getting to use the Cave’s shower for his first _real_ cleansing in months had been pure bliss.

Not only was the Batcave’s shower basically a room in itself, but the water came down like rain, falling from the ceiling and soaking him through within seconds.

Dick had sat there for a while, just enjoying the clean, _warm_ , water and letting the steam fill his head. And if the teenager had gotten a _little_ emotional over a shower…well, then that was something Dick and the tiled-walls would keep between them.

That had been two days ago, and it had taken some Truly Amazing pouting on Dick’s part to get Alfred to let him out of bed, so he could bathe and move up into the Manor and out of the medical section of the Cave.

The Butler had only conceded with the promise that Dick would stay in bed for the next _two days_ and rest.

So here Dick was, in his bathroom, freshly showered _again_ , (he couldn’t seem to feel clean, no matter how much soap Dick used, he just felt too dirty for this pristine house) now seeing himself for the first time in well, _months_.

Which was a bit odd in all honesty.

Dick had always been a skinny guy, it was just how he was built, he probably wouldn’t be super tall either (as Wally used to point out to him) but now he was _really_ thin, unhealthy so.

His cheekbones were more pronounced, and his ribcage jetted out, his hips and collarbone looked sharp and too apparent. Dick didn’t think he could look much younger than he already did, but the lack of muscle and fat definitely set him back a few years.

And then, there was the scar…

Okay, so, Dick had a bunch of marks, Bruce did too, it was just a hazard of the night job- but the teenager was a little peeved to find he had a pink scratch on his face.

It wasn’t horrid, or huge, but it was _there_ , and Dick didn’t know how he felt about that. Obviously, it could be a lot worse, Dick could be dead, so a blemish wasn’t anything to throw a fit over.

The scar reached down from the top of Dick’s left temple and ended on his cheek near his earlobe. Dick traced over it with his pointer finger, feeling the skin there; it was hardly raised, and it wasn’t jagged or large, it looked like a clean slice.

Because that was what it _was._

Dick hadn’t been fast enough to dodge one of the Invaders.

The thing had slammed into Robin, pinning him to the floor with a foot pressing into Dick’s chest. It had felt like his ribs were going to crack under the pressure as the alien leaned over Dick- bringing its spear up and slowly, ever so deliberately cutting a line across Dick’s cheek.

Of course, Batman had saved Robin before anything else could happen, and things had been okay.

But Dick had forgotten about the event until now, had blocked it from his mind, because in the long run, it didn’t really matter.

Looking at the scar now, however, brought back all those memories.

Biting at his lip the teenager turned away from the mirror. He shouldn’t dwell on things that he couldn’t change, he needed to move forward _not_ backward.

Dick shuffled into his bedroom, letting his too large socks (he has no idea who they belong too) scuffle across the hardwood floor as he made his way to his bed.

Alfred and Bruce had placed Dick in his _own_ bedroom, but it clearly belonged to someone else in this world. It was still painted the green that Dick had requested when he first moved in (in his own reality, _man this was weird_ ) and the furniture was in the same place, but there were differences.

Now that Dick was no longer on an IV and his mind was mostly cleared of the painkillers he has been on the past few days, he finally feels coherent enough to explore, (it wasn’t _technically_ snooping if it was _his_ room, right?) and look around the bedroom.

There weren’t a lot of clothes, either the person had taken them already, or Alfred had relocated them- and what few clothes were left seemed to be for Dick’s use.

(Alfred had apparently gone digging for some clothes in Dick’s size, and he had a good chunk, but the Butler had promised that they would get Dick some new clothes that fit his ‘ _specifications’_ ) Dick didn’t actually care, he would take whatever he could get, the teen already felt spoiled being able to use hot water and sleep in a real bed.

There were a bunch more books in Dick’s bookshelf, some of his favorites and other’s he didn’t recognize. There were even a couple old bookmarkers left between the pages of clearly unfinished novels, in a few were even little notes in the margins.

Just little things like _‘Yeah right’_ and _‘Same man, same.’_

Dick traced his finger over the scribbled words and wondered who had put them there.

On further inspection Dick found a skateboard under the bed, looking used and loved, it was broken in nicely the edges curved and the wheels seeming like they needed to be replaced.

Dick wanted to know who it belonged to, he had the urge to ask the person to teach him how to do more than just simply _ride_ one of these things.

A set of Spider-Man comics lay dusty in the bedside drawer, Dick snorted to himself- _again_ , wanting to know who had lived in this room before him.

Was it the _older_ him?

No, the stuff in here looked newer than that, and Alfred had said that the older Dick moved out when he was eighteen, which had been _years_ ago.

(Again, _weird_ )

So, one of the other bat-kids then.

What was the order of the kids?

Dick didn’t think he could remember, just their names, _Cass, Jason, Tim, Damian, Stephine, Barbara_ , and of course his older self.

That was it, right?

Bruce hadn’t adopted any others… _had he?_

Wait, had he even adopted all of _those_ kids?

Dick huffed to himself, rolling the skateboard back under the bed and turning away.

It was too confusing trying to shuffle all the information around in his head without knowing the full story. Dick would just have to sneak into the Cave and read over their files later. That would tell him all the facts, maybe not the personal details, but Dick could just get those from Alfred after.

Hopefully.

The teenager finally found some notes scrawled across random pieces of paper and in a notebook within the desk drawer, after a few moments of flipping through the pages Dick finds a name signed along the top- ‘ _Timothy Drake’_.

Okay, so this room had been Timothy’s, or wait, _Tim?_   
Didn’t Alfie say that he went by Tim?

Dick shut the notebook and put it back in the desk, sucking on his bottom lip as he glanced around the bedroom.

Well, finding out who this room belonged to did _not_ curve Dick’s curiosity _at all_.

It just made him want to know more, but clearly, he wasn’t going to find anything else in _this_ room. Alfred had probably moved the majority of Tim’s things to another area- _or wait_ , come to think of it, Alfred had said Tim didn’t live here anymore, so maybe this was just the stuff he left behind.

Dick clicked his tongue to himself, he should probably go to bed, it was nearly midnight, and Alfred hadn’t _technically_ given Dick free reign of the Manor yet.

The Butler always wanted to do ‘ _one more’_ once over on the injured person before he allowed them to leave their bedroom, but Dick was feeling jittery and wired, he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep even if he wanted to.

So, making up his mind Dick found a too large hoodie and tried to pull it on, which was irritatingly difficult when one of your arms was in a sling _just FYI_.

But Dick would deal with it.

Apparently, his left shoulder had been horribly dislocated (which he had known) and then slightly twisted out of place (which he _hadn’t_ known) and he was very lucky that they didn’t need to do surgery on it.

Though he had to wear this _stupid sling_ for the next few weeks, and Alfred was going to keep an eye on it to make sure it was healing correctly.

But anyways, Dick’s off topic.

Enough complaining about his injuries, he’s on a mission, Dick was sneaking out of his room, -hoping to god that Alfred was either asleep or in the Cave- so Dick could take a look around before he snuck back into his room and pretended to have been in bed all night.

_Oh yes_ , because Alfred will completely buy that…(that was sarcasm by the way, _Alfred sees all_ )

The hall was cold like Dick knew it would be (hence the hoodie) and the teenager almost smiled at the fact- because even though Dick hadn’t been in the Manor in what, _nine, ten_ months? He still knew how his home worked.

He knew that each room had its own thermostat and that was why the halls always felt so frigid, he knew each one of the squeaky boards to avoid while sneaking about, and he knew his way around the furniture even in the dark.

Dick knew this place, knew the Manor, he still had it memorized, even if it wasn’t his own.

Dick lets the fingers of his good hand trace over the wall as he walks, his footsteps without noise and his ears listening for the sounds of _one sneaky Butler_. But when the teen hears nothing and he reaches what should be Bruce’s bedroom, he can’t help but ease the door open to poke his head in, _just to take a look_.

The room is big and spotless, (as it should be) smelling of Bruce’s favorite cologne and freshly washed sheets. And Dick can’t help but step in, can’t squash down the feelings of nostalgia that bombards him upon seeing the room.

The last time he had been in Bruce’s bedroom ( _his_ Bruce’s bedroom) was an early morning before school.

Bruce had _for once_ actually slept upstairs, and Dick had stumbled in that morning, his eyes still half-lidded and his legs stiff, before he flopped onto the bed next to Bruce.

Bruce had already been awake (Dick could tell) when the teenager walked in, but the man had huffed in mock annoyance when Dick fell onto his bed, jostling the man.

Dick had yawned big and loud, being overly obnoxious before batting his eyelashes at his father figure in pretend innocents.

“I don’t remember inviting you into my bed,” Bruce had grumbled, (but Dick could hear the teasing tone) and then the man rolled from under his sheets, before grabbing the suit that Alfred had laid out for him the night prior.

Dick had closed his eyes stretching out long and cat-like. “Came to send ya off,” Dick had mumbled, listening as he heard Bruce enter his en-suite in order to get ready for his day.

Bruce had needed to travel to Japan for a few days for some WE business, and his private Jet would be expecting him later that morning.

But by the time Dick would have woken up for school the man would already be gone, so the teen had set his clock early in order to say goodbye.

“Didn’t you already ‘ _send me off’_ last night?” Bruce had called from within his bathroom, Dick could hear the man’s razor going. The teen remembered that he had wondered absently when _he_ would need to learn how to shave.

“I guess, yeah,” Dick had complied as he turned over onto his stomach.

It was true, he and Bruce had gone out to a burger place (one of Dick’s favorites) before coming back home and going out on an extra-long patrol. (It was a treat because it had been a school night, Bruce had extended Dick’s curfew)

“But I was already awake so…just came to say ‘hi’,” Dick lied, and he had known that Bruce would see right through it, the teen was clearly still half asleep. “So, _‘hi’_ ,” Dick had finished, blinking over at the wall with dazed blue eyes.

“Hi, Dick,” Bruce had said back, he tried to make it sound deadpan, but Dick could hear the amusement there. It had made the teen smile into Bruce’s comforter before he took in a deep breath of clean sheets and forced himself up and to his feet.

Dick had then lounged on top of Bruce’s vanity, swinging his legs and talking about nothing in particular; Bruce had hummed along and asked questions at the right times, showing that he was listening even though he was busy, and anything _but_ a morning person.

That had been a few weeks before the Invaders had arrived.

And sure, hanging out in Bruce’s room had never been a regular occurrence, but Dick never felt hesitant to enter the man’s bedroom anymore- not since he was eight and Bruce had sat him down and very seriously told Dick that anytime he had a nightmare or just needed him, that Bruce’s door was _always_ open to Dick.

Now, however, now it felt different in a way.

The room looks almost the same, smells and feels the same, but it _isn’t_. And Dick doesn’t know his boundaries here, he doesn’t know where he stands with this new Bruce.

And Dick _knows_ he shouldn’t go in, because this is _Bruce’s space_ , and Dick would have to be a complete and utter moron to think _The_ _Batman_ won’t notice when someone has gone into his bedroom.

But Dick can’t help it, can’t help but want to see.

The teen sucks on his bottom lip as he closes the door gently behind him. Stuffing his good hand into his large hoodie pocket so he won’t touch anything. Dick lets his eyes trace over the room for a moment, Bruce (ever the sentimental) has kept the room almost exactly the same.

The teen can only spot a few alterations, there’s a new lamp, a different office chair, and instead of maroon bedding Bruce’s new comforter is navy blue, but the starkest change has to be the _photos_ \- sitting on the nightstands, even a few hung up, others sat out on the Bruce’s desk, are a lot more framed pictures than Dick’s own Bruce had ever had. 

Dick pads over to one of the bedside tables, crouching down so he can look over the photos and after a moment Dick realizes with a pang of something he can’t distinguish, that these are photographs of Bruce’s _children_.

He’s looking at Bruce’s family, his _kids_.

There’s one of Bruce and an Asian girl, her hair is short and dark, her eyes a deep brown. Bruce’s arm is draped over her shoulders. Her grin is more with her eyes than her teeth, it reminds Dick of how Bruce smiles.

There’s another of a dark-skinned boy with sharp green eyes reading a book and ignoring the camera, a black and white cat on his lap. He looks a lot like Bruce, so much so, that Dick has to look away.

There’s a photo of a blond girl and a black-haired boy, their backs pressed to each other’s as they make finger guns at the camera, the girl giving a wink and the boy’s smirk only showing at the edges.

There’s a bunch more, picture after picture of Bruce’s many children.

But the one that has Dick’s chest tightening, the one that has the teenager twisting his hurt fingers inside of his hoodie to cause a slight bit of pain to ground himself, is one…of _him._

It’s clearly him, a couple years older though, the Dick in the picture looks maybe sixteen or seventeen, he’s giving the camera a silly face, his tongue out and one of his eyes squeezed shut.

Dick stares at it for a long time the reminder that he _isn’t_ the original Dick, that he isn’t the first, that he doesn’t belong here, hits him hard and heavy. The fact sitting in the boy’s gut like a cold rock. Making the teen’s face contort into a pained grimace as he finally walks away. 

Dick chews on his lip, contemplating, as he leaves Bruce’s room much like he had arrived,  _quickly_ and _quietly._

Dick’s socked feet lead him away from the bedrooms, his body automatically taking him somewhere hidden and familiar as his mind spins in a flurry of anxieties and questions.

At this point, Dick doesn’t think he needs to worry about Alfred or Bruce not wanting him here.

Both of the men have been extremely kind and supportive these past couple days, and honestly, they are almost Carbon Copies of Dick’s own father and grandfather figures, the fourteen-year-old doubts that either of them could just send him away.

But Dick doesn’t know these children (well technically they aren’t kids, aren’t they all _older_ than Dick?) he doesn’t know anything about Bruce’s kids, and _that_ is what scares him.

Because unlike in his own world, _Dick_ is the new kid, he’s the odd man out. This Bruce doesn’t solely belong to him, he wasn’t the first kid to be adopted by Bruce, he’s the _last_.

So, what would it mean if Bruce’s family felt uncomfortable with him? What if the older Dick didn’t _like_ the idea of a second Dick Grayson hanging around?

Dick wouldn’t blame any of them for feeling that way, it was a weird situation, (even for Bats) So where would that leave him?

Because Dick didn’t want to mess up what Bruce had going for him. It looked as if the man had finally healed enough to love again, to let people in, to make a family.

This Bruce has grown in ways that Dick hadn’t even thought possible.

Dick refuses to ruin that for Bruce, he wouldn’t…not even if it meant he had to go away.

And that is where the problem lays.

Dick finally turns the corner to his favorite library in the house. It’s the big one, bookshelves reaching up to the high ceilings, soft carpeted floors perfect to lay on, the smell of Alfred’s lemon wood finisher lacing the air, and two large couches sat in the middle with fluffy cushions.

It hasn’t changed a bit.

Dick makes a soft whining sound in the back of his throat at seeing it, he doesn’t know why, but his eyes are burning. The teen would like to blame the wetness of his orbs on the fact that his painkillers are wearing off.

But there’s no one here to lie to or to put a brave face on for.

So, Dick lets himself sink into the corner of a couch, burying his face into the cushion there. Just trying to settle his slightly erratic breathing and get his mind to calm down.

He’s stressed out and on edge.

Which was completely ridiculous if you ask Dick.

He was finally _safe_ , he no longer had to run for his life. He was back in his childhood home, he was surrounded by the people he had lost, he had been given a _second chance!_ Dick knew this, he _knew_ it.

So why did he still feel so…so _out of place?_

The only thing the teenager could compare this emotion too was the feeling of going back down from an adrenaline rush.

On bad nights, when Batman and Robin had to deal with the Real Baddies, adrenaline was the only thing that kept them going half the time. And on those nights, it wasn’t until the villain was tucked behind bars, it wasn’t until they got back to the cave and settled down that things would sink in.

It was only once they were able to loosen up, let the adrenaline die down, that they would notice their injuries, that they would realize just how horrid that night had been.

It was once the terror and need to fight had vanished that whatever had just occurred could finally compute in their brains. 

And Dick thinks that maybe, that’s what’s happening right now.

Up until this point, he has been on the move, he’s been _fighting, running, hiding, surviving_ , doing all he could to save his world, and then when that was a lost cause, doing everything he could to save _himself_.

And maybe that hadn’t really soaked in until this moment.

The fact that his world had been destroyed, that his friends had died, that he hadn’t been able to save Bruce, but even in death Bruce had been able to save _him_. 

So yeah, Dick thinks to himself, he’s just coming off of an adrenaline high.

That’s what this is, that’s why his chest aches and his eyes sting and his breathing is rough and ragged, because his mind is just now catching up with what’s happened.

_And that’s okay_ , Dick reminds himself as he presses further into the familiar couch, the pristine yet soft fabric rubbing at his swollen face in an uncomfortable way.

_No one can control when the adrenaline will fade. It just has to come down from the high at some point._

So, it might as well be now.

* * *

He had only been half asleep, his body still trying to heal and his mind settling down from his _slightly_ hysterical state before.

The combination making Dick hazy and drowsy, enough so, that he hadn’t noticed anyone come in, but not enough that he doesn’t jerk to attention when the warmth of another body gets close.

“Just me,” Bruce says from his crouch in front of Dick, his hands out, palms facing forward in a non-threatening manner.

Dick blinks himself awake, realizing with irritation that his shoulder is burning with pain, and his ribs feel tight under his skin, his fingers thrumming with a sharp ache.

Yeah, most of his painkillers have definitely worn off.

“Y’fin’sh patrol?” Dick asks tiredly as he rubs at his eyes with his good hand.

The teen doesn’t think he’d been dozing in the library that long, certainly not long enough for B to be back from patrol already. 

“I came back a bit early,” Bruce says, his blue eyes are assessing, but Dick doesn’t think there’s any evidence of his previous breakdown. So maybe the man can just tell he’s in pain.

“It was a slow night,” Bruce tells him and there’s clearly something he’s leaving unsaid, but Dick doesn’t mind.

The man cocks his head to the side just slightly. “Why are you in here chum?” he asks, “you should be resting.”

Dick sucks on his bottom lip, giving a nod in agreement, “yeah,” he mumbles, “I was just… _dunno_ , exploring I guess.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug, -that hurts a lot more than it should- at the statement.

Bruce stands then, reaching out a hand for the teenager to take as he says, “let’s get you back in bed before Alfred notices.”

Dick gets up on slightly wobbly legs, taking Bruce’s proffered hand and noticing how careful the man is with his hurt fingers.

“We both know that Alfred’s Butler-sense went off the second I crawled outta bed,” the boy mumbles as the two walk out of the library. 

Bruce hums in something like agreement, maybe a little amusement. (Dick’s too tired to analyze it right now) Before the man’s hand moves from out of Dick’s to rest on the boy’s lower back, guiding the teen forward as Dick lets his socked feet drag across the wooden floor.

After a few moments of walking in a comfortable silence, Dick lets himself lean into Bruce’s side, and the fourteen-year-old is pleased when he feels a second large hand rest in his hair only a second later.

The walk to Dick’s room is long, and at the same time, far too quick.

Once Dick has crawled into bed, taking the painkillers Bruce offers him and sinking into the soft and warm covers, he expects the man to leave right away, but Bruce settles himself on Dick’s bed instead, one of his hands resting on top of Dick’s.

“Y’think Alfred will let me eat downstairs tomorrow?” Dick finds himself asking just to clear the silence of the shadowed bedroom. His words are already slurring as the sleeping meds and painkillers start to do their work.

Bruce, perched on the edge of Dick’s oversized mattress, leans forward just a bit, his weight making Dick slide closer to him. “I think it’s a possibility,” he whispers, matching the teen’s tone.

Dick blinks slow and sluggish a few times, pursing his lips in thought. “I thin’ I can tal’ him into i’,” he states.

Dick’s shoulder is no longer burning, his ribs loosening to let him breathe freely, his fingers numb, the teenager feels floaty, but in a relaxing kind of way. 

Bruce leans forward even more, enough so that Dick can make out the small upward tilt to the man’s mouth even in the dark. “I don’t doubt,” he agrees, before brushing Dick’s too long bangs away from his face in a soft gesture.

Dick can’t help that his eyes flutter closed in that moment, can’t help the small sigh that escapes him.

“Go to sleep Dick,” Bruce whispers low and hushed. 

Dick feels himself give a tired smirk as he lets his body go limp into his soft covers, before he says, already on the cusp of unconsciousness, “don’ hav’ta tell me twice.” 

* * *

The day after Dick had fallen asleep in the library Alfred had stuck to his word and freed the teenager of the horrid entrapment that is _bedrest_ , allowing Dick to roam the Manor as he pleases, and only asking that he be careful and mindful of his injuries in return.

On the first day of Dick’s newfound freedom, the fourteen-year-old had gone exploring (sort of) looking for differences, but also making sure that the Manor, for the most part, has stayed the same.

Dick’s not sure why that matters to him as much as it does, but he’s never been one to argue with his feelings, so…

Thankfully the Mansion is generally the same; All the rooms are located where they _should be_ and the large house still seems to function like Dick remembers.

The only changes are minor; ones that you would expect to happen over time. There are portraits of different bat-kids hung around the Manor, their growth and change displayed in each picture. A few new plants, small pieces of furniture, decretive things have been replaced, and the main chandelier over the foyer is different.

But the structure of the Manor itself has been untouched, and Dick is very glad for that. The teen isn’t quite sure how he would feel if too many things had been altered. But like with both _this_ Alfred and Bruce, the Manor is just like Dick remembers it to be, with a few ( _but not necessarily bad_ ) changes.

The oddest part though would have to be seeing photos of himself.

Well, not _himself_ , but his older self… (stupid reality jumps are confusing)

Dick had passed a wall of portraits, going along it were pictures of the Other Dick from the ages of eight to what he would guess was eighteen- Dick isn’t exactly sure, because once he had realized what (or should he say _‘who’_ ) he was looking at, he had turned back around.

It was stupid, Dick knew, not wanting to see what he would grow up to be. But it felt wrong, like he was cheating or spoiling it for himself. People were supposed to transform and mature into the person they were going to be over a long period of time, they weren’t supposed to know _beforehand._

And Dick didn’t want to know.

Which again, he knew was stupid, he was bound to see what he would grow up to be, because he would meet his older self sooner or later, _wouldn’t he?_

But it felt like cheating or a form of stealing to glance over the pictures, so Dick would wait.

Dick shifted in his seat at the dining table, his eyes gazing over what he could see of the backyard through the windows. It was drizzling lightly, the drops of water glistening off of the green blades of grass and disturbing the water of the decretive pool that sat outside, making the surface ripple and sparkle with movement.

Dick’s toes reflexively curled in and out against the carpet, his body longing to dig his feet into the dirt of outside. It had been so long since he had seen _living_ grass or trees, so long since he had gotten to touch them, to _climb_ them.

The first morning that the teenager had seen the green expanse he had nearly run outside in his excitement. It had only been the sight of the rain that had stopped him.

Dick knew that this rain wasn’t tampered with, it wasn’t polluted, it wasn’t poisoned. In _this_ universe rain was still just _rain_. Nothing more nothing less. It couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t kill him. It was irrational to fear it, Dick knew this.

But that didn’t mean he was going to just run out into it all willy-nilly.    

So, Dick would wait for a clear day, one where he could go lay in the grass and smell the healthy soil, where he could lounge and feel the dirt in-between his toes, where he could prove to himself that if the plants can live through the rain, then so can _he_.   

But of course, this was Gotham, so Dick might be waiting a while for such an opportunity.

Alfred pushed through the kitchen door, walking in with a saucer and a cup in hand, giving it to Bruce (who was sitting at the end of the table reading over a newspaper, like he did every morning during breakfast) saying, “your coffee, Master Bruce.” As he placed it in his oldest charge’s hand.

Bruce glanced up, taking the cup and speaking, “thank you, Alfred.” Before returning his attention to the paper, and sipping on his morning- what had he called it? _‘Life-sustaining nectar?’_ Yeah, something like that.

The Butler turned to Dick and pointedly raised an eyebrow at the teenager’s still stacked plate of food. “Is the food not to your liking Master Dick?” he asked promptly.

Dick jerked to attention, blinking away from where he had still been glancing longingly out the window. “ _No, no_ , it’s good Alfie, thank you.”

Alfred gave a nod, waiting for Dick to continue eating before giving a slight smile and leaving the room.

The fourteen-year-old chewed on some hash browns, looking over his heaping plate of food and then over to Bruce’s. Yeah… He _definitely_ had more food than Bruce did, which was kind of ridiculous. Sure, Dick might be a teenage boy, but c’mon how was he expected to eat this much?!

There was a plethora of breakfast food scattered across Dick’s plate, and in a side dish that Alfred had set out for him when Dick had stumbled downstairs this morning. _Bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, hash browns, fruit,_ even _pancakes._ It seemed like a bit much if you asked Dick, he was almost positive this was a ploy to get him to eat more.

Dick knew he was malnourished, it was really obvious _okay._ A blind man could glance Dick’s way and notice his slimness. Dick _knows,_ alright!

The teenager knew that Alfred was worried about his weight, ( _or lack thereof_ ) and that the Butler planned to rectify the problem in any way he could. He had been trying the past few days to get Dick to eat more, it was _subtle_ , the way food was always in Dick’s reach.

And Dick was trying to eat more, he really was. If not for Alfred’s mind sake, then because he hadn’t had a homecooked meal in a year and Alfred’s food was _to_ _die for_.

But it didn’t seem to take much for Dick to feel full.

He had been living off of scraps and anything he could find within the rubble of cities for months now, and as a result, his stomach just couldn’t handle the amount of food it used to.

Dick knows it’s a problem, his body needs all the help it can get in order to heal, and then, later on, Dick will need it to get his strength and stamina back, so he can get into fighting shape.

However, this tactic seems a little overboard, this was too much food, and a lot of trouble for Alfred to prepare.

“Alfred went all out today, huh?” Dick whispered to Bruce around a piece of bacon, giving a sideways glance to the kitchen to make sure Alfred is still out of earshot.

Bruce began to fold his paper, “hmm,” the man hummed in way of response as he set the newspaper down at the corner of the table. “A good amount of choices,” he agreed as he started to pick from his own dish.

Dick gestured to the overloaded plate in front of him with his good hand. “This is a _lot_ of food, Bruce. I think Alfred’s planning to make me fall into a breakfast induced food coma,” he said as he glanced back at his father figure.

The man nodded his head, “it’s not an enormous amount,” he commented, “I think it would take at least another slice of toast to put you into a coma,” he said after a moment…and, was that a _joke?_

Dick sucked on his bottom lip, looking down at his breakfast as he considered what B just said- coming to the conclusion that Bruce was _full of it_ , this was a _colossal_ amount of food.

_Hmm_.

So, Alfred and Bruce were working together then, had probably talked and then planned on overstuffing Dick to the point of explosion…Nothing good happened when those two were in cahoots.

Heh, _'cahoots’_.

Bruce and Dick ate in easy silence after that, and Dick politely pretended not to see Alfred giving him glancing looks as he came and went, and he respectfully ignored the obvious way that Bruce was watching him eat.

Dick played with a strawberry on his plate, rolling it around with his frock before he began to fiddle with his bandaged fingers, (he had apparently fractured his ring finger, so both _that_ finger, _and_ his pinky had been wrapped) the fourteen-year-old chewed on his lip before taking a deep breath and looking over to Bruce.

“So, do all your kids live in Gotham?” he asked, the question coming out slightly rushed and very abrupted.

One of Bruce’s eyebrows quirked upward as the man set his frock down to give Dick his full attention. “For the most part,” he began, “they all travel frequently,” he disclosed, and that could mean the kids travel either for personal or Bat-related business.

Dick nodded, chewing around a bite of toast. “Do they come _here_ at all?” he asked, “like, to the Manor?”

In the week of time that Dick has been here there haven’t been any visitors. But he knows that Bruce’s kids must come here, he had talked to that one guy for a while down in the Cave after all, and the man had said he was one of Bruce’s adoptive sons.

So why has no one dropped by since then? It’s been six days since Dick came upstairs and out of the Cave, and four days since he was allowed out of bed. So why hasn’t he seen anyone? That’s what Dick has been wondering, that’s what the teen ponders over every time he sees a photo of one of Bruce’s adoptive children.

Do Bruce’s other kids even _know_ about him? And if they do, is that why no one has shown up? Is that why Bruce hasn’t mentioned them or introduced them to Dick? Maybe Bruce’s kids aren’t okay with him, maybe they don’t want to deal with his presence.

“They come and go as they please,” Bruce says, his voice is normal and calm, but his eyes are calculating as they scan over the teenager. “Most of my children are grown, Dick,” he states, “and they all have their own homes in Gotham.”

Dick bunches up the hem of his shirt, it’s a few sizes too large, with a big Green Lantern insignia on the front, (Dick had wondered who it belonged to when he had first put it on) “Do they…do they know I’m here?” Dick finally asks, gnawing on the inside of his lip as he watches for Bruce’s reaction. 

The man leans back in his chair, forgetting about his food for the moment. “Yes,” he says, his voice is a bit more serious now. “They’ve all been informed of the situation.”

Dick nods, he had figured as much, Alfred had said that Timothy was the one that had found him, and then that other man had talked to Dick down in the Cave after he woke up, it made sense that the rest of the siblings would be told of his arrival.

“So…so is that why they haven’t stopped by?” Dick asks, looking away from Bruce to stare down at the remints of his food, suddenly interested in his cold eggs. “Because _I’m_ here?”

Dick isn’t looking at Bruce, but he can feel the man’s gaze on him as he speaks, “they haven’t visited the Manor, because I asked them not to.”

Dick’s head snaps up at that, confusion pinching his brows together as he looks back to his father figure. “You _asked_ them not to come here?” Dick hadn’t considered that Bruce would ask his _own kids_ to stay away, and the teenager can’t figure out a reason for why he would.

“I told them I wanted to give you time to adjust,” Bruce states a second later, “and that I would update them when you were ready.”

Dick blinks to himself, Bruce had asked his family to stay away so that _he_ would have time to adjust, that was…that was _not_ what Dick expected.

Not what he had expected _at all._

Swallowing Dick asks, “when I’m ready for what?”

Bruce’s lips are slightly pinched, not a smile for a normal person, but a smile for B. “To meet them,” he says, his voice a bit quieter, but easily heard in the silence of the dining room.

“…Oh,” Dick says dumbly, looking back down to the table in _not quite_ shock, but it’s pretty near close. “So, they…” Dick has to stop, take a breath, before he tries again, “so they _want_ to meet me?”

Bruce nods once as an affirmation, picking his fork back up and beginning to eat his breakfast again, “they do,” he says simply, “they are all very curious.”

Dick feels a little dumbfounded at that statement, so the fourteen-year-old just grabs a piece of bacon and absently nibbles on it while he lets that soak in.

So… so Bruce’s kids are at least _open_ to the idea of him, they aren’t staying away for any of the reasons that Dick had thought they would stay away for. They’re just awaiting the go-ahead from Bruce, and Bruce is waiting for the go-ahead from Dick.

“They can,” Dick says, and then clears his throat because his voice came out too low. “You can tell’em that it’s fine. That I want to meet them too.”

And Dick isn’t, but if he _was_ watching Bruce, he would see a pleased look on the man’s face. “I’ll let them know.”

* * *

Dick presses his face into the grass in a way that the teenager knows Alfred would not approve of. Letting blades of green tickle his nose and dirt smudge his face as he heaves a laughing sort of choked off noise into the ground.

Evidently, it had _not_ been raining when Dick woke up this morning, and well, you can probably place a pretty accurate guess as to what occurred after that.

Dick’s still in his pajamas, blue plaid pants that are soft against Dick’s skin and probably _stained_ now, an overly large red hoodie that has some sort of symbol Dick doesn’t recognize, his feet bare.      

The fourteen-year-old wiggles his toes into the soil, not caring that grains of dirt are getting under his nails and mudding his skin, unconcerned with the fact that the morning ground is hard and cold, unbothered by the moistness of the mist covered grass, wet with early dew and yesterday’s rain.

Because the Earth feels _alive_ and _whole_ under him, and Dick has nothing to fear from it. He can feel the energy buzzing around him, hear the life of little birds and other creatures as they scurry around, can smell the softness of blooming flowers as Spring air settles on his tongue. 

So, the teen just lays there, his almost fully healed face pressed to the grass as he takes in large and relieved breaths, letting the fresh oxygen (well as _fresh_ as you can get in Gotham) fill his lungs to the brim before he blows it back out with dully aching ribs.

Dick hadn’t ever imagined he would get to do this again. It’s such a simple thing to come out here and lay down on the grass, to feel the wind make his hair dance upon his head as he lays contently on the ground. But after his world had been doused in acid rain and burned to ash it had been completely out of the question.

The Invaders weren’t just going after the humans, they went after _everything_. The animals, and the oceans, the crops, and the sky. The Aliens went for the Earth herself, destroying her, and all of her inhabitants.

Dick remembers a year ago when he and Batman had tried to figure out the Invaders game plan, when he, Bruce, and Alfred had hidden away in the Batcave with their rations and supplies, the three of them trying to think of counter-attacks in order to save their planet.

It had only been months later- when Alfred was already gone, when Gotham was nothing but embers and crumbled cement, when Bruce and Dick were on the run for their lives, living like animals, and being hunted as prey, -that Dick had finally come to the conclusion, had finally realized-

The reason Bruce and he couldn’t counter-attack, the reason they couldn’t find a logical way to fight back, was because the Invaders didn’t _have_ an end play.

The aliens didn’t want the Earth for its resources, they didn’t need the humans for slaves, they didn’t have any desire other than a hunger for war, and a need to kill.

It was not a game of chess, there were no counter moves or contingency plans, there was no board for the game, and if there was, it had long ago been knocked to the floor, the pieces left on the ground useless and untouchable.

And that is why Dick and Bruce, why the Justice League and the Militaries of the world, hadn’t been able to do anything. Because they were outmatched, and the humans had nothing to offer that the Invaders sought to have.

Because all the Invaders desired was to watch the Earth splinter apart.   
To wipe the life from the planet and then suck out anything that was leftover.

Bruce had speculated that maybe to the Invaders, all of it was a training exercise, that to them, life was extendable and killing off the Earth was nothing personal, but just a way to practice, to train, to learn. 

Dick didn’t think so.

The teenager had been living amongst the aliens for a year, and he didn’t think it was just training, that it was just a way to gain knowledge for future battles.

 No, Dick thinks it was a _game_.

That to the Invaders everything that had happened was a way of entertainment, they had been putting on a show, flaunting their power and skill, and then when they got bored they decided to come down and really get their hands dirty.

That hadn’t been a way to learn new skills, it had been a _display of power_. That was why the Invaders took on the Supers face to face, that was why they spent months tracking the heroes down one by one.

They were making a point.

To who, Dick will never know.

But that doesn’t matter anyway.

Dick breathes out deeply, making the blades of grass by his mouth shift against his chin. He pushes the memories to the back of his mind, telling himself that those things don’t matter anymore, because he is here, on a healthy and whole Earth, and he needs to _let those things go._

Easier said than done, really.

These things take time, Dick knows. But he refuses to let his mind carry him back to the past year, he wants to be in the here and the now, where he is relaxed on the green lawn of the Manor, getting to feel living grass for the first time in almost a year.

So, the fourteen-year-old closes his eyes, pressing his nose to the dirt and taking a deep whiff, absently rubbing his good hand over the ground and letting the grass tickle his palm as he does so. Dick hums lowly, a soft sound coming from his chest.

_Yes_ , he could lay here _all_ day, with the sounds of the fake waterfall of the decretive pool lulling him into a soft headspace, and the ground slowly thawing out under his warm body.  

Though Alfred would probably have a coronary if Dick tried to stay out here all day. But the teen could feel his body relaxing in a way he hasn’t yet felt, Dick had always loved nature, he always felt more at ease, more _himself_ while outdoors.

Growing up in a traveling circus had almost been like an eternal campout, and Dick had _loved_ it.

Haley’s Circus had traveled to follow the sun, the troop’s tours were scheduled so that the circus moved with the warmer conditions.

And so, it had been Summer weather all year round for Dick growing up. (He hadn’t even seen snow before he moved in with Bruce) Meaning that up until he was eight, Dick had basically _lived_ outside.

His earliest memories ones of Elephants and Loins, starlit campfires and the many clowns singing silly little songs as the troop settled down to eat dinner together after a show, before they packed up for the night. 

It had been a surprise when Dick settled down in Gotham City, where nine months out of the year it was cold, gloomy, and raining. He had gone from living a barefoot, messing, loud, and exciting life of entertaining, to one of penny-loafers, spotlessness, silence, and fake smiles. 

It had been hard, a shock to the eight-year-old’s system.

But once Bruce told Dick about his crusade as Batman, once his Robin training had begun, things became exciting again. Sure, the thrill was different than the electrifying one Dick felt while up on the trapeze, but it was a thrill nonetheless.

One that with time, Dick would learn he would become highly addicted to. One he wouldn’t be able to live without. One that would turn his life around in many ways, but at the same time, put him on a very dangerous path.

Dick’s not sure how long he’s been out here, just soaking in the nature and distractedly petting the grass, when he hears footsteps approaching from behind him. And for a moment the teen thinks it’s Alfred coming to collect him for breakfast.

But then the person settles down next to him on the lawn with a big exhaling sigh, heavy and large from their chest; placing their hands behind their head in substitute of a pillow, as they lay on their back. Before saying without looking over to Dick, “is that really the most comfortable position?”

Dick turns his head so that his cheek is resting on the ground instead of his nose. “Not particularly,” he tells the man, as he flips himself over to his back so that he is paralleling the other.

Bruce is also still clad in his sleepwear, gray sweatpants, and a black t-shirt, though the man is wearing slippers instead of opting for bare footedness like Dick.

Bruce hums, looking up at the blue sky and the white puffy clouds that float high above.

The teenager settles himself next to Bruce, having to put most his weight on his right side in order to alleviate most of the pressure from his wounded shoulder. It doesn’t hurt as badly now, not with the painkillers Dick is on and the _darn sling_ he is still required to wear.

Dick internally sighs to himself, he knows he should give it more than nine days. But the teen has always, _always_ been impatient when it comes to recovery time. It so hard to want to stay still and be ‘careful’ when Dick would normally be training in the Cave, climbing trees, or practicing on his gymnastic equipment- wait, speaking of-

“Do you still have the gymnastic area in the Manor?” Dick asks Bruce abruptly as the thought comes to him; turning away from the dragon-shaped cloud to glance at his father figure.

Dick hadn’t even thought to check for the gym in the week and a half he has been here. He could smack himself.

Bruce rolls his head so that he can level the teenager with a single eyebrow, “Dick, you know you are in no shape-” he begins.

But Dick shakes his head, making his too long hair shift into his eyes, interrupting the man, “no, I know, Alfred would have an aneurysm if he caught me tryin’ anything like that,” Dick states, his eyes turning away from Bruce as he catches sight of a ladybug flying by his side.

“I was just wondering if you still had the _fun stuff_ ,” Dick says, making his tone casual and light, so as not to show his inner worry over the man’s answer.

The fourteen-year-old sits himself up to let the red bug crawl onto his finger, resisting the urge to suck at his lip. He really hopes all the equipment is still there; in _his_ world, the gym had been a gift from Bruce to Dick, and as a nine-year-old Dick had been completely floored by the extravagantness of it.

“It’s still all there,” Bruce says after a moment, “some of it had to be replaced over the years and I’ve added in a few extra things, but your gym is still fully functional, Dick.”

Dick takes a deep breath in through his nose, turning over the words ‘ _your gym’_ in his head a few times, as he watches the ladybug crawl over his knuckles, letting a pleased smile curve into his face a moment later.  

“I’m glad,” the teen says simply, though those words hold a lot of meaning if the warmness of his chest is anything to go by. 

A large hand ruffles Dick’s hair at the soft declaration, and Bruce says, “good. Let it be incentive to recover quickly. Because you aren’t going near that room until Alfred gives the word.”

Dick laughs lightly, the puff of air scaring the little bug into flying away from Dick, before he smirks over at Bruce. “That Butler’s got us both wrapped around his white-gloved fingers,” the boy teases.

“If only,” a British accented voice comes from across the lawn, and Dick’s head whips around so fast in his shock he could swear it gave an audible ‘ _crack_ ’. “But even I do not have such the authority,”

“Are you sure you want to disclose such information?” Bruce teases his oldest friend. Sitting up so he can make better eye contact with the Englishman.

Alfred’s lips twitch in what would be an amused smile. “I may not have full control, Master Bruce, but that does not mean I do not have great _influence_.” The Butler says back, then swiftly moving on before either Dick or Bruce can comment. “With current weather, I thought it appropriate for a picnic, is a sandwich platter and a pitcher of lemonade an adequate brunch, sirs?”  

Dick makes himself lean up further, getting ready to lift to his feet. “Oh no, it’s fine Alfred we’ll come insi-” he begins to say, before a large hand wraps around his bicep, cutting him off.

“That would be fine Alfred,” Bruce says, giving Dick a slight wink, “thank you,” he finishes.

Alfred gives a single nod, “I shall return shortly then,” he says before turning back to the Manor.

Dick twists fully towards Bruce, a smirk on the teen’s face, “you didn’t have to say _yes_ ,” Dick states, “I would have gone inside for breakfast.”

Bruce hums unconcerned, laying back down to look up at the clouds. “You’re enjoying yourself, and this is the nicest day we’ve had in weeks,” he comments.

Dick can’t disagree with the man, so the teenager lays back, settling next to Bruce and just enjoying the other’s company.

Breakfast is nice, the sandwiches light in the teen’s stomach, and Bruce and Dick’s conversation is about nothing specific, but just getting to talk to the man makes Dick feel warmer inside, that ball of random anxiety he’s been carrying around unravels a little to let Dick breathe easier.

“So, what do you have planned today?” Dick asks around a bite of crust, a smudge of mustard at the corner of his lip, “anything _exciting_?” he asks a bit sarcastically.

Bruce takes a sip of his lemonade, (Dick has been trying to figure out if the man even _likes_ the taste of the particular beverage or if he is just drinking it to humor Dick and Alfred in the whole _picnic theme_ of the morning) But the teenager hasn’t been able to spot any hint of distaste or pleasure on the man’s face, and Dick is pretty sure that Bruce is doing that on _purpose_.

“I have to go down to the office,” Bruce discloses, “my CEO is having a…” Bruce seems to taste the words before he speaks them, “ _‘family emergency’_ , so I am filling in for him today.”       

Dick’s eyebrows scrunch, “ _you’re_ not the CEO of Wayne Enterprises anymore?” he asks in confusion. Wondering why Bruce would give that job away.

Bruce downs the rest of his drink _, (the mystery of whether or not_ Bruce Wayne _likes lemonade will continue on)_ “Due to some odd circumstances,” Bruce begins as he picks up the plate of leftover sandwiches. “I handed the job over, but I still have a large role at WE, and I’ve been working closely with the current CEO.” 

Dick follows the man’s lead and scoops up the glass pitcher of lemonade and both of their glasses before he trails behind Bruce, having to jog a few steps to catch up with him.

“And you trust this guy with WE?” Dick asks, really more to just fill the silence than anything else. 

Bruce answers almost straight away, “I do,” he states simply. “More so than I trust myself with the company.”

Dick raises an eyebrow as he and Bruce walk back into the Manor, making their way into the kitchen to place the sandwiches on the counter and the lemonade in the fridge.

“Well he must be a good guy then,” Dick says as if five minutes haven’t passed since Bruce last spoke, “maybe I’ll get to meet him someday.”

Bruce gives a slight pause at the doorway of the kitchen, his back turned to Dick as he speaks, “it is a distinct possibility.”

* * *

**Tim’s Perspective-**

Tim stands leaning on one of Bruce’s fancy cars as he fiddled with his phone, feeling very out of place in his slightly worn jeans and one of Conner’s overly large t-shirts that Tim had _‘borrowed’_ and never plans to return. The teen hasn’t been to the Manor in what must be _months_.

Sure, Tim’s been down in the Cave, either helping with random cases that B needed an extra pair of eyes on or getting patched up from Alfred when he’s made a bigger mistake than he can deal with by himself.

But those times didn’t count. At least they didn’t in _Tim’s_ mind. (They probably seemed like completely pleasant social call in Bruce’s head) But in Tim’s opinion, none of those visits were social, because he had been _Red Robin_ , on duty and helping Batman.

Red Robin comes to the Cave all the time.

He and Batman worked together closely, and Alfred now _insists_ on weekly medical checks due to too many injuries not being reported, and Tim in effect suffering from _sepsis_.

(Now _that_ had been embarrassing)

Though Nightwing had said that if _Red Robin_ had to get checked over once a week they should _all_ have to abide by the same rule, so it wasn’t just Tim that was subjected to _that_ little irritation.

( _Thank you_ , Big Brother Dick)

But Tim Drake- Tim Drake hasn’t been here in _months_. Tim could blame the fact on his busy schedule, being the CEO of WE and working as Red Robin on the other side of Gotham, not to mention his work with the Titans back in San Fran or other random little things (like Ra’s al Ghul’s weird obsession with him) helps to keep Tim on his toes.

He could even try to fault Damian for his lack of visits at the Manor. But Damian doesn’t even live with Bruce full time anymore. The kid has his own room at the penthouse with Dick and he spends more time there than he does here. So really that isn’t the cause either.

If Tim is being honest, he just feels _uncomfortable_ here.

And at this point, that is probably no one’s fault but his own, huh?

Damian has stopped actively trying to kill or maim him, (okay Tim’s being facetious, the kid hasn’t tried to do either of those things in almost a year) Dick and Tim’s relationship has improved, the older reaching out to Tim in many ways. And Bruce not only involves Tim in his higher profile cases, but the man has now been actively working with Tim at WE as something likened to a partner.

But Tim doesn’t know his role anymore.

Not really.

When he was younger he knew his place, knew his job. He needed to keep B in line and help the man through the mourning process over Jason’s death. And then when things had shifted Tim was the one that needed to keep his head on straight and move forward. And even later when Dick had become Batman, Tim’s job was to find Bruce, because no one else _would._

But now, now Tim wasn’t Batman’s Robin (not that he wanted _that_ back, Tim actually likes the name and reputation he has created for himself as Red Robin and he isn’t willing to give that up) And he isn’t even Bruce’s son anymore. (Not since the emancipation) And yes, technically that was _supposed_ to be all politics and a way to save WE, but it wasn’t like Bruce was making a huge effort to befriend Tim.

(It could be argued that Bruce getting more involved at WE, _was_ his way of reaching out to his third son, but Tim isn’t sure if that is for him, or if Bruce is just making sure Tim has everything under control at the company)

So where does that leave Tim?

Not the sidekick,

Not the son,

Not the partner,

So, what was he? What was he supposed to be in this _‘family’?_ Where was he supposed to fit in? _Tim didn’t know_ , so he just decided to move out of the way.

It was what usually worked for the teenager, if he wasn’t needed then he would step into his place back in the shadows, waiting for another time when he would be needed again when he would be _useful_ and _beneficial_ to have back in the loop.

And Tim tried that, he had _tried_ to pull away, but Dick wouldn’t _let_ him, and he’s pretty sure that Dick talked to Jason because the older just started randomly popping up in Tim’s life as if that was _normal_.

Tim had even found that if he didn’t text at least one of his older ‘brothers’ every other day they would barge into his apartment uninvited and force him to stop doing whatever it was he was in the middle of- (which was really annoying, mind you) -so that they could ‘ _hang out’._

And that left Tim in this weird position, where he didn’t have a duty or a job in the family, but he was still required to stick around and just _be_ there. Tim didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know what was expected of him.

And _that_ , that’s what made Tim feel uncomfortable and out of place as he sat here leaning on an overly expensive car in the Manor’s garage, waiting for Alfred to make an appearance. 

Because Tim didn’t like not knowing his next move, he didn’t like feeling unprepared, he always wanted to know where he fit-in within the scheme of things, and not having his next step planned out (even in a social situation) left Tim feeling jittery and wired.

The teenager slipped his phone back into his pants pocket with a quickly typed out _‘gtg ttyl’_ to Bart, as he heard crisp footsteps approaching.

Tim pressed off of the car to greet Alfred with a small smile. “Hey Alfie,” the teen said as the Englishman walked around the corner. 

Alfred, predictably, did not startle or even bat an eye at finding Tim waiting for him in the garage (rather than knocking on the door like a _civilized person_ )

“Ah, hello Master Timothy,” Alfred replied smoothly, making his way to the Alfa Romeo (his preferred vehicle) in the corner before pulling out his keys.

Tim walked over, taking the stack of dry-cleaning from the Butler so that Alfred could unlock the car door easier, “thank you, young sir,” Alfred said after he had taken the laundry away from Tim and placed it in the back seat of the car. “How is that wound of yours doing?” Alfred asked a moment later, straightening up and flattening out nonexistent wrinkles from his suit.

Tim made his smile just a tad wider, “it’s almost healed,” the teenager reassured, placing a hand tentatively over his side, “nothing to worry about.”

Alfred tsked, “I suppose I will have to take your word for it,” the man said, his tone with an underlying warning, saying that if Tim was lying to him there would be _heck to pay_. “I shall be a few hours, possibly four, which should be sufficient time for you to meet the young Master Richard,” he stated.

Tim nodded, “thank you for letting me kick you out of the Manor,” he said as Alfred began to climb into the driver’s seat of the car.

Alfred gave a slight smile, “it is of no trouble,” the Butler reassured, “it has been far too long since I have completed my chores away from the grounds, and I plan on taking my time.” The last part was punctured with a wink that made Tim huff a short laugh before Alfred keyed the antique car to life and began to roll away.

Tim started to make his way to the Manor, but before the teenager could turn his back, Alfred rolled down his window and called, “there are cookies fresh out of the oven if you feel the inclination sir.”

Tim paused, feeling his lips quirk up in a genuine smile this time, “peanut butter?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Alfred always made his young charges’ favorite cookies when they visited.

Alfred hummed, feigning contemplativeness, “why yes, I suppose I did make a large batch of peanut butter baked goods,” he said, and with that, the older man drove away.

Tim fiddled with a stray string of thread at the pocket of his pants as he walked up the stairs of the Manor, feeling a little more hop in his step as he jiggled his housekey into the lock, before slipping through the open door.

The teenager stood there for a moment, his back pressed against the solid wood as he set the deadbolt. What should he do? He came here to meet the mini Dick Grayson, (well technically _re-meet_ since Tim was the one to have found him in the first place) but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

It was a really weird situation, and Tim was good with odd circumstances, but this was on a whole different level. He would be interacting with a Dick Grayson as a slightly traumatized _fourteen-year-old_ from a different universe.

Bruce had said this Dick acted almost identical to how _their_ Dick had acted at that age, with a little less attitude and a bit more hesitance. And the older Dick (god it was confusing referring to them both) who had gotten to interact with his younger self for a few minutes (when the boy had first woken up) had also stated that the younger seemed to think along the same lines that he had when he had been around that age.

But that wasn’t the strange part, (at least not in Tim’s mind, it made sense that they would be similar) it was the fact that he _knew_ this boy, and at the same time, he _didn’t_.

And on top of that their roles have been reversed in an odd way, Tim was now the older one, he was the one with a Set Place within this family- which was a huge contrast to how it had been with Tim and his own Dick Grayson.

And well, Tim hadn’t really known Dick at this age either.

Sure, he had talked to _Richard Grayson The Ward of Billionaire Bruce Wayne_ a few times at the random balls, galas, and fundraisers that had been thrown within their high-class crowd of socialites. (But at that point Tim had only been seven, and it would have been two more years before he even figured out that Dick and Bruce were Batman and Robin)

And that fact made Tim stutter in his steps for all of two seconds before he reminded himself that if this was some version of Dick, he couldn’t be all that different from the one that Tim has come to know and love. And honestly, he was what- _three years_ younger than Tim? It couldn’t be that hard to find even ground with the other teenager, any interaction should be a piece of cake when comparing Tim’s past contact with _Damian._

So, the teenager makes his way into the kitchen, plopping himself onto a barstool with a content sigh as he spots the plate of peanut butter cookies. “Alfred, no one deserves you,” Tim mumbles to the empty room as he snatches one up and begins to absently chew.

He’ll wait the mini version of Dick out, the kid must be hyper like Tim’s older brother, and that means he’ll find his way into the kitchen _eventually_.

Jason would probably sneak up on the kid, not wanting to wait. Stephanie would do something similar, just walking up to the new boy and introducing herself. Damian would do something the same, but in some odd and aggressive way, probably just show up and say something along the lines of _‘I was here first_.’

But Tim is patient enough to wait, and he can’t really think of what he would say if he were to seek the young Dick out. He doesn’t want it known that the only reason he is here today is to meet the kid (which is exactly the case).

Once Bruce had given them all the greenlight, saying something close to ‘he would like to meet the rest of you, but _please_ not all at once.’ Tim had hesitantly asked Bruce if he could have a few hours alone in the Manor to meet the new Dick, and surprisingly the man had been compliant, even taking over for Tim down at WE for the day so that the teen would have some free time.

Tim’s not exactly sure why he feels _he_ needs to reach out to this version of Dick.

Maybe in a way, it’s because when Tim had first come into Bruce’s life, _his_ Dick had made it a point to reach out to _Tim_.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that Tim had found the boy a week and a half ago, bloodied and looking on the verge of death.

Maybe it’s just to quench his curiosity.

Whatever the reason, (perhaps a bit of all three) Tim feels a responsibility to at least check up on the younger. Up until this point, the kid's only been with Bruce and Alfred, and that’s fine and probably what the boy had needed, (something familiar and solid) but if he wants to meet someone else in the ‘family’, maybe that _should_ fall to Tim.

Tim is possibly the most stable out of the family (next to the older Dick) but this shouldn’t have to fall onto the man’s shoulders, he has _Damian_ for the time being (Bruce and Dick having discussed whether or not the tiny assassin should stay at the Manor, and deciding that he should just stick with Dick at the penthouse until things settle down a bit) So Dick is busy with his own problems, and welp, here Tim is, doing his duty…

Tim slips his phone out of his pocket, staring at the plate of cookies longingly. He already had one, and Tim tries his best to stay away from carbs and sugars (because unlike _some people_ he has to _work_ to stay fit, _thank you very much Kon_ ) But one more isn’t going to _kill_ him.

Tim waits, munching on his favorite cookies, and snorting a laugh when Conner sends him a picture of his own tired looking face with the caption SOMEONE KILL ME, and what Tim recognizes as Conner’s school lunchroom behind him. 

* * *

It’s about a half hour later when Tim hears it, the shuffle of socked feet on the floor, and the light humming of a young voice.

The teenager sits himself up straighter on the barstool, setting his phone down on the granite countertop as he eyes the door to the kitchen.

A moment later the younger Dick walks in, his sky-blue eyes going wide and his humming coming to an abrupt stop as he spots the older teen. “I…” he says quietly, surprised and clearly caught off guard, blinking at Tim a few times before mumbling a confused, “uh, _hi_?”

“Hello,” Tim replies, feeling awkward and resisting the urge to fidget in his seat. “I’m Tim,” he introduces, “I was the one that brought you back to the Cave, not sure if you remember that though?” Tim goes on a moment later.

The younger shifts where he stands, he looks better than when Tim last saw him (which wasn’t a surprise when under Alfred’s watchful care) but Tim can tell, even with the large sweatshirt on, that the kid is still _way_ too skinny, which kind of makes Tim feel like a hypocrite; the older teen now recalling the _many times_ his older siblings/Bruce and Alfred have called him out on his own thinness.

Being in the opposite position now, makes Tim realize why his family is always shoving food at him.

Maybe he should make an effort to be less grumpy when they do.

Though, Tim knows for a _certainty_ that he has never looked that malnourished. He has the random urge to toss the kid a power bar or something, as ridiculous as that notion is. 

“No,” Dick says, (boy is it weird to call him ‘ _Dick’,_ maybe Tim should refer to him as Richard or Dickie in his head, just something else, something that isn’t Taken)

“That’s all kinda blurry, sorry,” the kid finishes, sucking on his bottom lip as he tries to discreetly study Tim.

It’s a habit that the older Dick has mostly grown out of, the man only chews on his lip when under a lot of stress or when he is holding a large amount of anxiety.

This younger version of Dick has clearly _not_ outgrown the habit.

Tim should probably feel bad that he knows all of the kids tells and the kid doesn’t know any of _his_ in return, but Tim can’t say he doesn’t like the advantage. 

“You had a pretty bad concussion,” Tim amends trying to give a slight smile that won’t come off as strained, _just because_ this _Dick doesn’t_ know _his tells doesn’t mean he isn’t_ just _as perceptive as the older Dick._

“How’s the shoulder?” Tim asks, gesturing to the offending arm, it’s still in a sling, one that Tim knowns for a fact must be driving the boy crazy. 

The younger glances down at the arm, his lips screwing up in that way that is _almost_ a pout but not quite, it looks just the same when Tim’s older brother does it, the comparison almost makes the teenager laugh, almost.

Richard shrugs, “I’ve had worse,” he brushes off, “it’s the lack of movement that’s driving me crazy y’know?” he says, and at this, he picks at the sling with nothing but pure contempt and disgust on his face.

That actually does make Tim laugh, a small hushed sound, but one that has the boy looking up. “Yeah, I figured that would be your biggest complaint.” And with that, the atmosphere shifts from just this side of overly awkward to something more casual.

Richard (no that’s too formal) _Dickie_ shifts forward just an inch like he’s trying to decide if he is wanted here or not, and Tim can practically see the questions forming on the boy’s lips.

“So…so you’re _Tim_ ,” he says, almost to himself, “I think I stole your room,” he adds on, almost as an afterthought.

Tim moves his eyes away from the other teen, sliding the cookies forward as something of an invitation. “Heh,” Tim huffs, “well _technically_ I think I stole it first so,” and Tim lets the sentence trail off as Dickie walks forward, sucking on his lip again as he smoothly slides onto a barstool in only a way a Grayson could.

“Peanut butter?” the younger asks as he grabs a cookie, taking a bite before Tim can answer.

“Yu _p_ ,” Tim says popping the _‘P’_ , snatching another even though he’s already had _two,_ just because it would probably look weird if he didn’t. “They’re my favorite, and well, _Alfred_ ,” Tim says, as if that is enough of an explanation, because honestly if you knew the man it really _was_.

The younger Dick smiles, it looks soft, almost secretive, Tim for an instant, wants to know exactly what the boy is thinking. “Alfred,” Dickie agrees a moment later, the fondness for the Butler bleeding into his voice, something that Tim knows for a fact they already have in common.

“What’s your favorite cookie?” Tim asks, he already knows of course, _chocolate chip_. But when meeting someone you don’t usually know everything about them, so well, Tim can pretend if that will make Dickie feel more normal in this odd situation.

Dickie huffs a laugh, his too-long hair shifting over his face to reveal a scar on his left temple and cheekbone. It isn’t huge, but it’s noticeable and the way it looks so clean cut makes Tim bite the inside of his cheek.

That had _definitely_ been done on purpose. 

“Chocolate chip,” Dickie says, smiling around the bite of cookie he has in his mouth, “but you _already_ knew that,” he states, and the way he says it doesn’t sound self-deprecating or sad like Tim might’ve thought it would, it sounds teasing, playful.

Because, well, it’s _Dick._

Tim lets his mouth tilt up, sincere this time, “alright,” the older teen says, “I’m up to skip the introductions if you are, and I’m pretty sure you have questions, because I know if _I_ was in your place I would.”

Dickie nods, brushing a hand through his bangs when they get into his eyes. “Almost ten days of walking around the Manor and seeing pictures of all you guys,” he pauses, seems to chew on his next words. “I have a _lot_ of questions,” he settles on, his leg has begun to bounce where he has it rested on the stool.

(So _yes_ , just as hyper and unwilling to be still as the Dick Tim has come to know)

Tim hums, setting the remnants of his cookie down by his phone. “Have you hacked into the Bat-computer yet?” Tim asks, knowing that he would have done so by now.

Dickie shifts in his seat, “thought about it,” he begins, “but I didn’t want to do anything that would get me on Bruce’s bad side.”

Ah, so the kid is still unsure about how permanent his place is here, Tim tucks that information away.

“Plus, it’s hard to hack into something heavily encrypted while one-handed,” the younger teen wiggles the fingers of his hurts arm at this, a little wave.

Tim nods, leaning back on the stool and letting himself fiddle with the string on his jeans again, _whatever_ , Tim _knows_ it’s a tell, but he needs to get out his jittery energy somehow.

“Okay…” Tim breathes the word, “well, Bruce’ll probably let you have access if you ask, and if not, one of us could just sneak you some files.” The kid looks downright shocked at the statement, but Tim goes on anyway, “but until then, I think it’s only fair that I share some information with you since I already know quite a bit about you.”

Dickie is chewing on his bottom lip again, contemplating, “well,” the kid starts, staring out the kitchen window as he thinks, “I mean I could just fire off random questions, or you and I could trade off stories,” he looks unsure as he glances back at Tim, his blue eyes not meeting Tim’s own. “I mean, you’ve probably heard most of mine, but, that would be less… less _weird_ I think.”

Tim follows the kids gaze to the window, watching as a few hummingbird’s buzz around the feeder Alfred has hung up for the Springtime.

“I haven’t heard _all_ of your stories, and you might have a few different ones,” at this Tim feels the other’s gaze on him and he glances back to the younger boy, “our timelines have to be at least _slightly_ different, otherwise your presence here would have already begun to corrupt things.”

Dickie nods, going to suck on his lip and then resisting the urge at the last second. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “I’ve thought about that, but I think the main difference is that my world was invaded by aliens and this one never was.”

The kid gets a faraway look in his eyes at the statement, it’s not a look Tim is unfamiliar with, but it isn’t one Tim likes to see on anyone else, so Tim decides to speak.

“I’m sure that is a gigantic factor in why you can live in this reality,” Tim agrees, watching as Dickie comes back to himself with a few fast blinks of his eyes. “But did you consider the timelines _themselves_?”

At the kids questioning look, Tim clarifies, “our Dick Grayson was born in 1993, but _you_ were born in 2003, meaning, even though both of you are _similar_ and will probably act a lot alike, you aren’t the exact same person.”

“…Oh,” Dickie murmurs after a second, his eyes big and round, his mouth slightly open in his shock. “I… I hadn’t considered that,” he says, sounding a little breathless, “the generation gap would make a big difference,” he agrees.

Tim can practically see the wheels turning in the kid’s head. 

Tim grabs up his uneaten cookie, picking at it as he lets the new information soak in for the younger Dick. “So how about this,” Tim says after a minute, catching the kids eye again.  

“ _I_ share a story and then you tell me one of yours.” Dickie nods, still looking a bit floored, and a little puzzled. “And then afterward I’ll let you know if I heard any of your stories before, either way, it should curve both of our curiosity,” Tim says, giving a little shrug, feeling a tad self-conscious over letting himself talk so much at once.

But just like his own Dick Grayson, this one doesn’t seem to mind when Tim babbles or pauses to find his words. It’s something that makes Tim smile softly to himself, Dick hasn’t changed very much over the years it seems. It’s something Tim’s glad for. (Even if he wouldn’t dare state those feelings out loud) 

It takes a moment, but then a slow smile slides onto Dickie’s face, this one not looking strained or awkward in the least. “Alright,” he says, picking up another cookie and taking a large bite, before saying, mouth full, “you first.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo Timbo made it! Hope the POV change was good, I felt it needed to switch at that point. :)
> 
> So if anyone is wondering where this fits in timeline wise, it's somewhere set after the Red Robin comic (FYI, you don't have to read to know what's going on) because honest to God, comic timelines are so hard to keep track of, I know I can't keep track, so this will be a mixture of canon (y'know cuze I disregard what I don't like) *cough* New 52 *cough*
> 
> Alright, my friends, I hope you enjoyed, please tell me what you think (because this is my first fic in the fandom!) and I need feedback!
> 
> Welp, until next month, Fernandidilly-yo out!


	3. Introductions and Reminiscing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, my guys, I've been getting daily migraines for about a month now and that has been making it pretty difficult to get any writing done. But hey! here it is!
> 
> It doesn't really matter for the story's sake, but just so you have a better visual, here are the boy's ages in the fic-
> 
> Adult Dick- 24  
> Jason- 20  
> Tim- 17  
> Lil Dick- 14  
> Damian- 13
> 
>  **Warning-** Canon-Typical Violence.

**Dick’s Perspective-**

It’s almost 2:00am and Dick can’t sleep.

Bruce will be gone for at least another hour if not two, and so that has left Dick alone and bored in his bedroom.

Alfred took the fourteen-year-old off of the painkillers and sleeping medication he was taking for his injuries a few nights ago, and unfortunately, now Dick is finding it hard to sleep without their aid.

It wasn’t just the nightmares he was plagued with (which there were _plenty_ of) but it seems like Dick’s flight or fight response went right back to reacting to any sort of sound or movement within his environment the same way it had when he was actively being hunted.

Any time the ancient Manor’s frame gave a creek or wind swirled outside his windows Dick would shoot awake with a gasp, wide blue eyes darting around for the impending Invaders, only for the teenager to realize a moment later, that he is no longer on his world and that no one could hurt him here.

It was an ever-losing battle between Dick and himself.

Because even if nothing was there to wake Dick up in the first place (unlikely) his body would wake itself up anyway. He was no longer used to sleeping a full cycle, it had all been quick catnaps and little dozing’s while he was on the run from the aliens, never anything longer than an hour (not after Bruce was gone and couldn’t be there to keep watch) and never at night.

Dick has tried everything, keeping his bedroom door locked, sleeping with the lights on, with headphones playing music over his ears, with blankets, without blankets, anything he could think of that might get his body to calm down and rest.

But nothing seems to work, the reaction was built into him now and the fourteen-year-old doesn’t know what to do about it.

Dick’s thought about telling Bruce, (though Bruce probably already suspects with the dark purple splotches growing under Dick’s eyes with each sleepless night) but he doesn’t know what Bruce would do to fix this either, they would be working against Dick’s body and the only way to do that is with medication or sedatives.

And Dick doesn’t want to take anything, would rather ride this out and wait to see if he can correct it on his own.

The teenager flops back onto his mattress with a puffed-out sigh. He’s been trying to read this darn book for a while now, but he can’t focus, he’s pretty sure he’s reread over this same page at least a dozen times now, and he _still_ doesn’t remember what it says, so Dick gives up, he’ll just have to stare at the ceiling for entertainment instead.

Dick closes his eyes, not bothering to climb under the covers as he takes in a deep breath and lets his mind wander.

He’s been here for two weeks now and he feels pretty settled with Alfred and Bruce, they both treat him the same as Dick’s own versions of the men had, and while that might make Dick sad at times, (for reasons he won’t let himself ponder) he is mostly just grateful for it.

(If Dick is being completely honest with himself, (which he tries to be) if Alfred and Bruce had acted too differently from Dick’s own Alfred and Bruce he might have had a breakdown)

The fourteen-year-old doesn’t feel as out of place in the Manor as he had his first week here, he has his own collection of clothes now, _thank you, Alfred_ , as well as a laptop and a MP3 player, along with some books Bruce said that his Older Self has read and was crazy about.

Alfred framed and hung up a poster of The Flying Grayson’s in his room while Dick was outside, and his old stuffed elephant that he had had as a kid magically appeared on his nightstand one day. (No one brought it up, but Dick did make sure to hug Alfred _just a bit tighter_ the next morning when he saw the older man)

The only hang-up Dick currently has with his new living situation is that he’s still waiting to meet the rest of Bruce’s children. And while Dick is less nervous about it now, he would like to get all the introductions over with. Dick isn’t a very patient person, especially with something so life changing, he’s starting to get antsy.

Dick did get to meet Tim about five days ago though, the fourteen-year-old finding the older in the kitchen eating peanut butter cookies by himself. Dick thinks that he could be friends with Tim, he likes the older boy, he wasn’t _that_ much older than Dick and he understands all aspects of Dick’s life, which had been very weird, but exciting too.

Wally had been Dick’s only friend that had known him as both Robin the Boy Wonder _and_ Richard Grayson ward of Bruce Wayne, but even Wally hadn’t really understood what it was like to be the adoptive son of a Billionaire Playboy and to be raised by The Batman in Gotham City of all places.

But Tim, he got it, he understands it, -Dick didn’t have to explain how Bruce was different while in and out of the mask, didn’t have to go into detail on how life functioned as a teenage vigilant working in Gotham- because Tim has been through all of it, his upbringing (while still different from Dick’s) is similar enough that at points in their conversation Dick had gotten goosebumps.

They had both been Batman’s partner.

Both taken in by Bruce and Alfred.

Both trained and (somewhat) raised by the men.

It had made Dick wonder what it would have been like if his world had never been invaded. Would his reality’s Bruce have ended up adopting Tim and all the others? If Dick’s Earth was still alive, would he have ended up being the _older_ brother instead of a younger one?

Dick had pushed those thoughts away though because there was no way for him to ever find out, and because of that, there was no use in worrying or getting upset over things that would never happen, that would never come to be.

So, Dick had just listened to Tim instead, had compared and contrasted what was different or the same in their two realities. And that had spun off into just getting to know a bit about each other, sharing stories of training gone wrong or missions going haywire, others of saving the day at the last second or not having to save it at all.

It had made something warm bloom in the fourteen-year-old’s stomach when he and Tim had gotten to share stories. It was odd talking to a boy that _also_ belonged to Bruce- it had made the whole situation more real for Dick, but it had also put him more at ease, because, _well_ , if these kids were Bruce’s then having another Dick Grayson jump into their reality wasn’t completely out of the question, they were _Batman’s_ kids, this sort of stuff just happened.

Sure, it wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t unheard of, and Tim had treated the situation as such, had treated Dick with an understanding that the fourteen-year-old hadn’t been expecting.

It had been really nice, and Dick has found himself wanting to ask Bruce for a cellphone, so he could text the older boy, but Dick isn’t sure if he should, isn’t sure if Tim would _want_ Dick to text him.

So, Dick will wait, will give this (whatever _‘this’_ is) time before he tries to reach out to the only other person he knows in this universe (other than Bruce and Alfred) because Dick doesn’t want to scare the older boy away or come off as something clingy.

Dick sighs again, taking a deep breath of clean laundry (Alfred washed his bedding today) and turning over, trying not to jostle his hurt shoulder in the process.

Dick might appear sleep deprived, (because he is) but at least he no longer looks like a zombie, all of his cuts and bruises are nothing but scars and memories now, so all the teen has to worry about are his still slightly injured ribs, his fractured fingers (but those seem to be healing without any problem, and Alfred thinks Dick may get to take the wrappings off in another week or so) and his still-healing shoulder- which is probably Dick’s biggest complaint, but Alfred said Dick might be free of the _stupid sling_ in another two weeks if he-

Someone opens Dick’s bedroom door without warning, the slight squeak of the ancient hinges alerting Dick that someone has entered. The teenager whips around, his ribs tingling a sharp-protest in his chest and his shoulder vibrating with the movement.

There is a dark-haired man in Dick’s doorway, he’s about as broad as Bruce, but younger, maybe in his early twenties. He’s in black pants and a dark brown leather jacket. His hair tousled like he ran his fingers through it one too many times.

At Dick’s abrupt movement the man holds up both his hands in a placating gesture, his palms facing outward, giving a somewhat crooked smirk.

The man opens his mouth as if to speak, but Dick interrupt, “should I be attacking you right now?” Dick asks, scanning the older with calculating blue eyes.

“That’d be fun,” the guy says, the half-smile stretching to shadowing his face, “but I think we’d wake Alfred.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, just tries to shift to his right without the man noticing the action, the teenager keeps a Batarang hidden in his nightstand and Dick is pretty confident that he could make a dive for the knife before the stranger could reach him.

The man isn’t moving any closer though, still just standing in the doorway with both his hands held up in the air.

“I’m not here to hurt’ya, kid. Just thought I’d drop by before the Boss Man shows up.” The stranger’s voice is deep, but not as deep as Bruce’s.

He has a Gotham accent, but it isn’t exactly like Tim’s.

Tim’s accent had been barely there as if the older boy had been repressing it or embarrassed of the slight tilt of his speech, the over-pronounced T’s and dropped R’s, but it came out in certain words for Dick’s ears to pick up on.

This man wasn’t hiding his accent whatsoever, letting the W’s and D’s that shouldn’t be there slip into his speech. He clearly wasn’t from the upper-class part of Gotham, he sounded like he was from the outskirts, from the slums that B and Dick had worked so long to clean up.

“At 2:30 in the morning?” Dick asks skeptical, narrowing his eyes.

Dick isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do right now. Technically on this world, the teenager doesn’t even exist, and frankly, no one should be able to get into the Manor unless they have clearance from Bruce himself.

Dick doesn’t think he should make a move until he knows who this guy is.

“Sure,” the man goes on, “Bats is still out, and I don’t really feel like dealin’ with him.” Dick feels his guard go down ever so slightly, okay, this guy knows about Batman which means-

“Names Jason Todd,” the man - _Jason_ \- says, “Timbo says y’re even more _‘charming’_ then our Golden Boy, thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

Dick feels himself gaping for a moment. Wait, hold on…so this guy, _Jason,_ came to see Dick specifically? “You…so you, came here to see _me_?” he asks, the confusion coloring his voice, making it higher than he would like to admit in this situation. (Stupid puberty)

Jason shrugs, “yu _p_ ,” he says, popping the P on the end. “So, we good here, or are you still plannin' to kick me?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at the younger in question.

Dick tries to make his body relax from its tense position in answer, even if he still feels a little on guard. He finds it a bit strange that this man came to see him in the middle of the night while he _knew_ Dick wouldn’t be with Alfred or Bruce.

Tim had come to the Manor when Bruce and Alfred were gone, but that had been different, that was during the day and Tim hadn’t sought Dick out, Dick had just happened to stumble upon him. 

“No kicking,” Dick says, letting his tone go just this side of teasing, testing the waters, “maybe some light stabbing, but nothing too extravagant.”

Jason huffs a laugh and takes that as permission to come closer, his boots sounding heavy on Dick’s hardwood floor.

When he approaches the bed Dick shifts to the side, gesturing to an open spot on the monster of a mattress, a moment later. “You’re one of Bruce’s kids, right?” he can’t help but ask, Alfred and Tim had both spoken of a Jason, so this guy must be him.

Jason drapes himself over the red comforter, laying on his back with a heavy sigh, one of his legs hanging off the edge. At the question, his face twists for an instant, as if uncomfortable, but as soon as the expression is there it’s gone again, replaced by a blank look. “You could say that,” he replies, “not sure if Bruce would be too happy about it, though.”

Dick shifts, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment as his eyebrows furrow, _what does that even mean?_ “You were a Robin though, weren’t you?” he asks after a slight pause. Dick could’ve sworn that Alfred had said Bruce adopted Jason, so Dick was feeling a bit confused by the older boy’s answer. 

Jason side-eyes the fourteen-year-old, his eyes are a light green and Dick can now make out a few freckles trailing across the other’s cheekbones, a few barely-there scars littering his face.

Dick can see traces of the boy this man used to be, can now put a name to the face in all those pictures he has seen hung up around the Manor. Jason is built like Bruce, strong, tall, with a square jaw and masculine features.

Jason Todd looks a lot more like Bruce than Dick _ever will._

The older sighs, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment, Dick thinks that the man is trying to be relaxed and nonchalant to help put Dick at ease, to show that he isn’t going to strike, and for some reason, Dick is finding that he trusts Jason. The older doesn’t seem like he is here to tell Dick off or to judge him.

So, Dick allows a few of his walls to come down, letting Jason make the next move.

The fourteen-year-old grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, hugging it to his chest with one arm, and resting his chin on the top of it as he waits for an answer.

“Yeah, I was,” Jason says, opening his eyes to stare at Dick’s ceiling. “Took the pixie boots after the Older You was done with’em,” he says, and Dick feels his nose scrunch up.

“Pixey boots?” Dick asks, incredulous and confused.

Jason shifts so that he is leaning on one forearm, his weight making Dick tip forward a tad. “…Yeah,” he utters a bit slowly. “What did _you_ wear?” Jason asks, now the skeptical one.

Dick scoffs, _“steel-toed boots,”_ he deadpans, “are you telling me that Batman let you go out in _slippers?”_

Jason laughs here, the sound low and coming from deep in his chest, it makes Dick’s shadowed bedroom seem less lonely, more alive.

Jason rubs a hand down his face, a smirk resting heavily on his features. “You don’t even know the half of it kid,” he chuckles, the edges of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

Dick gawks for a moment, what the heck had Bruce been _thinking?_ The teen shakes his head to himself, (okay okay, questions for a later time) “So, you were the second Robin?” Dick asks instead.

Jason nods, he seems more open now, gesturing and letting his expressions show clearly on his face. (Dick hadn’t realized Jason was scolding his features until he no longer was) “And the best,” the man replies.

Dick splutters, “maybe on _this_ world,” he offers, “bet I could kick your butt no sweat.”

This gets Jason’s attention and he turns fully to face Dick, making a scented puff of fresh laundry waft up from the comforter, a devious smirk lifting Jason’s lips. “Oh yeah?” he says, “when are’ya getting that sling off?” He nods to Dick’s hurt arm.

Dick looks down, picking at the sling in utter contempt, if he had _his way_ it would be off Right Now…off and thrown into the nearest fireplace… “Best case scenario two weeks, worst case…ten.”

Jason lets out a low whistle, “ouch,” his lips twist in sympathy, his green eyes scanning Dick’s arm and shoulder for a moment- as if he could make out the damage through Dick’s thick hoodie. “How’d you jack it up so bad?”

Dick wiggles where he sits, sucking on his bottom lip, he doesn’t really want to go into the full story, so he opts for a vague answer, “I was trying to grapple, and something snagged on my leg, the added weight pulled my shoulder out of joint and without help I couldn’t get it back in.”

The younger gives a one-shouldered shrug, even though the images playing in Dick’s mind are now of that wolf-like-creature snatching onto his ankle and trying to rip his foot off as he fell between skyscrapers.

Jason eyes Dick for a long second, seeming to sense the younger boy’s discomfort, but instead of pushing, he just says, “alright, when ya get the sling off let’s have a sparring match, see if y’re as good as you think you are- _short stuff.”_

Dick doesn’t think about it when he shoves the older with his toes. _"Short stuff?!”_ he squawks offended and slightly intrigued if Dick is being honest, he hadn’t thought that Jason (or anyone for that matter) would agree to spar with him…should be an interesting challenge, to say the least.

(That is if Bruce will even _let_ him)

Jason just shrugs, “hey, I didn’t know the Dickhead when he was your age, never would’a guessed he was such a shrimp.”

Dick pauses in shock, blinking to himself a few times, both at the mild swear _using his name_ , and the fact that Jason apparently didn’t know the elder Dick when he was fourteen- when exactly were all of the Batkids adopted?

Dick shakes his head, that’s just another question he’ll have to add to his ever-growing list to ask Alfred later- because right now he’s a bit preoccupied with trying to shove his foot into Jason’s mouth.

* * *

The cave floor is freezing underneath Dick’s bare-feet. It makes the boy regret not grabbing shoes or at least slipping on some socks for warmth. But not enough so, that the teenager is willing to turn back upstairs to the Manor in order to find some.

Dick shivers as he shuffles forward, taking in the Batcave like he hadn’t gotten the chance to before. Sure, Dick had been down here for a few days when he first wound up on this world, but he had been stuck in the med bay, he had been pumped up full of painkillers and narcotics, and it wasn’t like B had given him the grand tour or anything.

The Cave much like the Manor is built the same, the walls and ceilings rising and falling where they are supposed to, the structure and core of it identical, but unlike the Manor, that is where the similarities end.

The inner assembly is completely different, making the fourteen-year-old gawk for a moment. There is a giant penny to Dick’s right, a large Joker card to his left.

The bottom of the Cave, (which is consistent of many levels) is filled with sparkling water that Dick can hear ‘ _plink plonking’_ even from all the way up here. There are far more gadgets and vehicles than Dick and his Bruce had ever had, and honestly, Dick could go on all day about how _cool_ everything appears.

You would think that out of everything Dick would find something high tech and alien to be flabbergasted at, but in the end, it is the ginormous Tyrannosaurus Rex right in front of him that has the teenager standing in utter bewilderment. 

He remembers bits of the Cave from when Alfred and Bruce had led him upstairs into the Manor, but Dick had thought he imagined most of it, and then when he had caught sight of the dinosaur Dick had been _positive_ he was high on his painkillers…

But evidently, he had not been.

Dick stumbles forward, marveling at how alive the creature looks, complete with its yellow eyes and sharp teeth. The teen has to squish down the urge to climb up the T. Rex… ( _later,_ later he will climb it. When he isn’t injured and he won’t get caught committing the crime)

Dick follows the stairs through the many floors, spiraling down until he is at the base of the T. Rex, he wants to at least _touch it_ before he continues exploring, the Cave is so large and filled with so many things Dick could probably spend hours down here without getting bored, that is until Bruce or Alfred find him and make the teenager go to bed.

(The hypocrites)

Dick runs the fingers of his good arm over the bumpy skin of the relic, taking in how rough and thick the reptile's skin feels under his own. It was just such a strange sight to find a life-sized dinosaur in the Batcave. (As if the Batcave hadn’t been cool enough already)

Dick’s in the middle of circling the creature, tracing over it with his eyes curiously, when he sees the gleam of a glass case, bright familiar colors stored inside of it for all eyes to see.

The teenager pulls his fingers away from the dinosaur, cocking his head to the side as he begins walking forward, upon further inspection, Dick can now see that it is not merely one glass case, but a row, all proudly displaying different costumes.

They’re uniforms that Dick doesn’t recognize, one is a flashy blue and yellow thing, another a discarded Batsuit, one looking like it belonged to a woman- a bold yellow Bat symbol on its chest.

But it is the many versions of the Robin suit that draw Dick’s eye.

One with no green, just red, black, and yellow. Another clearly made for a girl, the tunic more like a spandex dress. One did look similar to what Dick used for his own Robin costume. But what had the boy scoffing out a chocked splutter was the sight of a red tunic covering what looked to be nothing but a green scaly leotard…complete with _pixie boots._

Dick almost swallows his own tongue, he had thought Jason was exaggerating. What the heck!? How had the elder Dick convinced B to let him out in that? It was completely exposed, leaving the wearer with almost no protection from his surroundings.

When Dick had begun designing his own uniform when he was just eight-years-old, Bruce had had a massive amount of impute in Robin’s costume construct.

Really when Dick thought about it now, he had just wanted his family’s colors, and when Bruce conceded in that area, as well as letting Dick choose the name of ‘Robin’, the boy hadn’t really cared all that much about any alterations Batman made to his suit after he had won those battles.

But this…this uniform in front of Dick- it was almost a replica of what The Flying Grayson’s wore while performing back in the good old days.

It made two feelings intermingle in Dick’s chest; a deep-seated nostalgia that had him biting his lip and blinking his eyes hard, and, a _completely understandable_ form of second-hand-embarrassment at having found out that his elder self, fought crime in this _‘uniform’_.

“ _Oh my god_ , Grayson,” Dick whispers to the air, “drag our name through the mud will’ya.” But the fourteen-year-old cuts himself off as he catches sight of another display case right next to this one.

Cocking his head to the side in befuddlement, Dick walks over.

It looks like the same uniform that Dick had just been making fun of, but with little changes, it was bigger too, for a teenage boy, one older than Dick. But what made Dick pause were the words inscribed in the glass ‘ **Jason Todd - A Good Soldier** ’.  

Dick purses his lips. Something…something is off with Bruce and Jason’s relationship. A few days ago, when Jason had come to see Dick the teen could tell something was amiss. The first indicator had been when Dick asked if Jason was Bruce’s son, and the older had looked uncomfortable at the question. And after that, whenever Dick brought up their father, Jason had deflected, switching the conversation to something else entirely. 

Dick had almost asked what that was all about, but he hadn’t been willing to dig for anything quite yet, not when he had only known the man for all of two hours.

Dick had still been observing Jason’s reactions, making sure he wasn’t accidentally overstepping his bounds with the older, Dick didn’t want to push Jason away. Not when he was another connection to this world and the family that Bruce had built. Dick still desperately wants to be included in that, longs to become a part of it someday.

But somethings visibly wrong between Bruce and Jason.

It was clear in how Jason had acted when Bruce was mentioned. And now, now with this display case that had an odd description that made Dick feel like he was missing a very large piece to an overly intricate puzzle.

The teenager sighs, fogging up the glass in front of him as he moves away.

Well, maybe it wasn’t his business, or, at least it wasn’t _yet_. But the detective in Dick wants to know, he wants to have all the shards of the picture so he could make out its full depth, Dick’s tired of being in the dark.

Dick was about to turn around, maybe to go gawk at the dinosaur some more or maybe to go mess around other areas in the Cave, (the teenager was just letting his eyes lead him at this point) But another display catches his attention, and Dick feels something twist sharply in his chest as he slowly pads towards it.

And sure enough, it is in fact what Dick thought it was.

His uniform.

Dick’s suit is hung up proudly in this glass case, looking as tattered and ruined as he remembered it. Though it had clearly been mended (Alfred) ripped fabric sewn together in an attempt to make it appear less ragged and frayed. 

Dick lets his blue eyes trace over it, his fingers coming up to rest against the cold glass. The costume is mismatched, Dick having thrown pieces of his other suits together to make one complete uniform.

A green combat suit underneath a red tunic, his tallest pair of black boots, a slightly ripped green domino mask, one black glove and a nonmatching green one, two utility belts, one his normal yellow, the other black for covert missions.

But what has Dick taking in a shuttering breath is the _cape._

 _Batman’s_ cape.

The one that Bruce had given Dick for warmth on a cold night that seems both just like yesterday, and a lifetime ago. Robin having had to ditch his own cape in the midst of battle a few days prior.

They had been camping out in the ruins of a slanted skyscraper. Steel pillars and pipes lodge through the concrete walls and protruding outward. Robin and Batman had taken refuge up high where they had an advantage point and could easily escape when the time came.

Dick had huddled himself up against the wall and Bruce’s side, shivering in the cold of the night and gritting his teeth against it. They couldn’t make a fire, couldn’t risk bringing attention to themselves, Robin knew that, and he would make do with what they had to do in order to survive.

But his guardian had leaned away, slipping off his cape in one fluid motion, and without a word wrapping the thick kevlar around Dick’s too skinny shoulders. He had let Robin use it before, of course he had, he was _Bruce_ , but he hadn’t ever out-rightly given it to the boy.

“Now you’re gonna get cold,” Robin had whispered lowly, always aware, always on a diligent vigil, waiting for their pursuers to slip in from the shadowed night and make their strike.

“I’ll be fine,” Batman had murmured back. His whited-out eyes never leaving the yawning hole in the wall that sat before them, letting the harsh winds in.

It was storming that night, which was why Robin was having more trouble with the conditions. Usually, Bruce’s warmth was enough for Dick to fall into an uneasy doze, at least until they had to move again.   

But they were both on edge, the Invaders had become relentless over the past three or four days, leaving the two vigilantes exhausted, starved, and wary. Even with that on their mind, however, Robin needed to try to sleep.

Batman slept in fits during the day, when Dick could keep a better eye out and wake him if anything arose, and Robin was supposed to rest during the night when the Invaders took more risks and made the majority of their attacks.

Batman never slept during the night, which Dick understood, honestly the teenager would have been filled with dread if he had to keep watch during the dark hours.

Dick had doubted he would sleep that night though, and there was no point in Bruce being cold in his place. “We can share,” Robin had said in a rushed hush of words, almost not audible over the roaring wind that blew outside.

The teenager had pulled the cape from his back then, shuddering at the loss of its warmth almost immediately. Before he draped it over his front and most of Batman’s, hoping that that would be enough to keep them both from being so horribly miserable for at least a while.

Robin had apparently fallen into a light doze at some point. The teenager waking in the same manner he usually did, with a small gasp and wide frightened eyes- Batman at his side, stiff and ready to pounce, to counter an impending attack.

“There’s movement to the Far East,” B had said the moment Robin was fully awake. The words, ‘let’s move’ were implied, Robin didn’t need a verbal command to know what to do.

Clipping on Batman’s cape hadn’t been a mental decision, it was a force of habit at that point, Dick’s fingers finding the attachments and locking the fabric in place without a single passing thought.

The teenager was able to make out what Batman had spotted, there was in fact shadows moving steadily in their direction, just in the area that the naked eye could spot them in the pitch dark; which meant B and he were in a hurry, but hopefully hadn’t been sniffed out yet.

The two had moved in sync without a word, the pair already having discussed the best escape route when the time occurred- slide down one of the slanted beams through a hole that led to the next floor, down a flight of stairs, and then jump across an alley and into the neighboring building.

It should have been fairly easy, it had been the logical way to flee the scene before the aliens could catch up to them. But unfortunately, the Invaders must have figured out the same thing.

And maybe Bruce and Dick would have thought about that aspect, considered that these Aliens were smart, ( _smarter than either of them_ ) and because of that fact, they could predict what Batman and Robin would do after months upon months of tracking them down and studying their every move.

But the two heroes were run ragged, after days of the Invaders not letting up, even in the daylight, (which was usually a time where Bruce and Dick could get their equilibrium back) they were beyond pushed to their limits. At least two days without food, and only small fits of sleep interspersed with running for their lives, becoming scattered in their thoughts as a result.

Well, the point was, something like this was bound to happen. 

Dick just wished that he could have done something to prevent it.

The moment that Batman and Robin rolled into the dilapidated office building the Invaders were on them. Having been lying in wait, knowing their trap wouldn’t have been anticipated by the two heroes.

The aliens used the shadows and obstacles around them to their advantage, the good thing was, so did _Batman and Robin_. It put them on more of an even playing ground with the aliens, but that didn’t mean much when your opponents towered over you and could break bone with just the right flick of the wrist.

There had been two Invaders, along with their wolf-monsters that looked like a hybrid between a mangy dog and a rabid seal, slippery goo seeping out of their pores and slicking up their wiry hair.

Batman had made the first move, (the two vigilantes having learned it was better to go on the offensive, better not to let the Invaders get the first jump) And Robin hadn’t been far behind, launching himself up and off of an overturned desk before kicking one of the aliens in its masked face, twisting away again before it could nab him.

It was a fight that Dick had been through more times than he could remember.

More times than he’d _care_ to remember.

(Go with lethal force, but try to keep your distance, don’t let them get close enough to claw at you or go for your neck. Be aware of the monster-creatures, but do _not_ engage, because in that fight it is highly unlikely that you will win)

Get in, capacitate, and get out.

Batman and Robin weren’t fighting this battle to win. They never were any more it seemed. It was just a means of living, the only way to survive on this ravaged world.

Robin hadn’t thought this fight would go any other way than it normally did. Of course, there was always that underlying fear, that worry that this could be his last fight, that this could be the time he would finally make the slipup that would evidently cost Dick his life.

But this battle hadn’t seemed like anything that Dick hadn’t dealt with before and he had really thought that Bruce and he could take out the two Invaders before disappearing into the shelter of the rubble-filled city once more.

But then, everything had changed in an instant.

The large glass windows to Robin’s left exploded abruptly, sharp shards raining down on Dick and making him lose his balance for a just a second.

A second, however, was still too large a miscalculation.

Next thing he knew, Robin was being tackled by one of the dogs, and then, then four other silhouettes rolled into the room as well as one of the bear-like creatures.

It was utter chaos after that.

Robin shoved a knife into the wolf-monsters neck with a sharp cry, eyes squeezed shut. Twisting from under its body and kicking at the other approaching dog’s snout in the same movement. He had been knocked away from Bruce when he fell, and the man was now taking on four of the Invaders by himself.

Dick pushed up, headed toward the man, but then there was a sound of a blade ‘ _swishing_ ’ through the air and Robin was forced to duck and roll out of the way, the spear just missing his head.

The boy dropped to the palms of his hands and spun, kicking out his feet to catch the Invaders off balance, but it only served as a distraction, one of the aliens grabbed Dick by the ankle, pulling him up with no effort and proceeding to throw the boy into a nearby desk.

Robin’s chin smacked loudly on impact- the boy not having the proper time to correct his fall -making his teeth clang in his mouth and leaving the teenager feeling dizzy for a blink.

But Dick pushed through it because it was either that or die.

The two sets of Invaders were herding Batman and Robin away from one another, having figured out they worked better as a team, as a unit. But the two heroes were trying to reach one another, pushing back, fighting to make it to their partner’s side.

Robin could just barely see B from the corner of eye- the man grabbing two of the aliens’ heads and slamming them into one another as Robin jumped up and levered a kick to an Invader’s backward-facing knee.

They could do this,

they had gotten out of worse,

 _they could do this_.

Robin shoved a desk into a wolf that was coming for him before flipping onto the slightly splintered wood and throwing a knife at one of the aliens. His blade buried itself into the Invader’s thigh, making it buckle for a moment, but there was no sound of pain or distress- still ever silent, always without sound.

The other alien charged Robin, lashing out a whip and letting it wrap around Dick’s arm with a burning sting, the boy cried out through gritted teeth, slicing through the whip with a Batarang before bringing up his taster and sending a current of electricity up the whip and into the alien’s limbs.

For a moment Dick really believed they would get away, that he and Bruce would make it out of this scathed, but _alive_.

Batman had wounded two of his four and Robin his two plus the dogs. If Dick could manage to get to B and help they could find an opening, and then they would have a chance to run.

The teenager flipped off the desk and into the air, aiming for one of Bruce’s attackers’ heads with his foot-

But Robin had forgotten.

Had forgotten something very important.

He had forgotten about the beast the Invaders had brought along with them.

-Robin was tackled out of the air by the bear-sized creature, it seemingly came from nowhere. The monster slammed into Dick, pinning the boy to the ground with its massive weight.

Dick gasped out a chocked yelp as the creature opened its yawning mouth in threat, acid-like saliva dripping onto the teen’s chest and face. Burning at his skin and making him squirm in terror and pain. 

Robin cried out as the monster lunged, its claws digging into his thighs, its needle-like teeth coming for Dick’s face.

 _“ROBIN!”_ Dick heard Bruce yelling for him in the background, could hear the cold fear that laced his second father’s voice. (Dick didn’t think he had ever heard Bruce sound like that before)

The teenager grabbed a smoke pellet and shoved it into the monster’s mouth, making sure to lodge it between its teeth, before he began slicing at it with a Batarang.

But it didn’t move off of the pinned down boy, just screeched and dribble and clawed while on top of Robin.  

And that is when Dick became positive he was going to die.

He had figured it would happen soon, Batman couldn’t always be there to protect him, and out of the two of them, of course B wasn’t going to go first. (He was _Batman_ )

And maybe it was selfish of Dick, maybe it was a horrible thing to think- but he was glad for it, glad that he would be gone before he had to see another one of his parents die.

But an instant later, there was a roar of rage and then a thick black boot was smashing into the monster’s head and Dick was being scooped up by his armpits.

Before Dick could get his footing or make out what was going on Bruce was carrying (running) him to the frame of a shattered window, wrapping the cord to his grapple-gun around Robin’s chest so tightly it hurt.

It was in that moment that Dick realized what Bruce was planning, what he was going to do. So, the boy struggled, _“no Batman no! Don’t do it Bruce!”_ he pleaded his voice already watery and cracked.

Batman and Robin each had one cord to their grapple-guns left, it was only to be used as a _last resort_. They were at least thirty stories up in the air, and without his grapple, there was no way for Bruce to get out. He would be left up here with six Invaders and a roaring blubber-monster.

 _“Please!”_ Dick had cried, tears running from under his mask and down to mix with the blood on his chin.

But of course, Bruce hadn’t listened.

He fired off the grapple to attach to a far-off building and within the same instant the man pressed their foreheads together in a final goodbye, whispering one parting word, _“run.”_

And then Bruce let go of Dick, triggering the grapple, the line ripped the boy away from his father, a scream of sorrow and despair clawed its way from the teenager’s throat before it was pulled away by the wind.

Robin’s back collided with the edge of the building’s roof a moment later, knocking the breath from his lungs and making him wheeze in a shaking wet gasp.

But Dick didn’t care, was pulling himself up and trying to untangle his body from the grapple line with trembling fingers.

_He had to go back._

_Had to get back to Bruce._

_This…This **couldn’t** be happening. _

But then, with a loud crash, glass shattering, wood splintering, walls crumbling, soot falling, the floor (of which Bruce was still on) erupted in fire and flame. The blaze so hot Dick could feel its heat from where he sat, and then the roof caved in, burying the top few floors in concrete and metal.

Dick stopped his struggling with the grapple, his ears ringing and his eyes burning. And for a moment the teen couldn’t remember how to breathe, his chest on fire and his stomach twisting, his head filled with cotton and his limbs numb.

And he just…watched.

He watched the flames, the black ashes raining down on him like some sadistic kind of confetti.

A part of Dick had needed to scream and cry and sob, wanted to swear and curse the world for doing this, for taking the last person he had… _the most important person he had._

Another part of him had longed to never move from that spot, didn’t want to bother with ever getting up again, just desired to give up and wither away right there on that very building.

But Dick hadn’t done any of those things.

He just watched...

He watched until the flames were all smothered into nothingness.

He watched until the ashes no longer fell like black snow.

He watched until his eyes could no longer produce any tears.

But then. When the silence became too much- when the sun was peeking over the horizon in orange and pink rays- when Dick thought he could finally catch his breath.

He ran.

It had only been later- when Dick could no longer run, when his lungs were wheezing, and his legs had gone numb, his head left buzzing -that he had realized he was still wearing _Bruce’s cape_.

Now, looking at the black kevlar on display made Dick’s chest hurt and his lips twist in sentiment. It was ruined, ripped into strips and torn apart with memories of ragged claws and sharp spears.

But it was _Bruce’s_ …

His Bruce’s.

Dick takes in a long calming breath through his nose, trying to reign in his ever-raging emotions.

He traces over the glass with his finger, part of Dick wanted to be able to touch it, to feel the cape, to press his face into its unforgiving fabric and cry into it like he had done so many times before. (Even if that was stupid, even if it was childish)

But really, it was better this way.

The memorial to Bruce that Dick had never been unable to give him. The cape was falling apart, and if Dick were to keep it, it would end up in remains. This way…this way it would last, it would stay safe down here in the Batcave where it belonged.

There is a slight movement in the reflection of the glass, something Dick wouldn’t have noticed if his forehead wasn’t pressed directly against it. The teen doesn’t move for a second, blinking away the extra moisture in his eyes before he turns around.

“You kept it,” Dick says, knowing he wouldn’t have to elaborate. His words came out steadier than he feels, but Bruce would pick up on the wetness of it. Because he’s _Bruce_.

“Of course,” B responds. His voice comes out sounding like Bruce, he may be in the Batsuit, but the cowl is down, leaving him somewhere in the middle, not Batman not Brucie, just _B._

Dick cocks his head to the side to look at the cape behind the glass one more time, turning his blue eyes to Bruce’s darker set a moment later, and giving the smallest of nods, a light purse of the lips, ‘thank you’ the expression says. And maybe to most people, it would have been just a look, just a nod, but Bruce understands it.

And Dick understands what it means when Bruce makes direct eye contact for an instant before the muscles in his jaw jump to make his nose twitch, ‘you’re welcome,’ his face speaks, ‘I know how it feels’ it says, ‘it’s not enough’ it flashes, along with a million other unspoken things, then the expression is washed away from his face like it had never been there at all.

This is how it worked between Dick and Bruce.

It didn’t seem to matter what universe, what reality, what timeline they were in. Bruce and Dick understood one another, and sometimes words were not needed, sometimes a look could mean more than any words ever could.

Dick sucks in a raspy rattle of a breath before blowing it out quickly, walking away from the case with his uniform to lever an accusatory finger at another.

“Okay, be straight with me B,” the teenager speaks, “is this what the first Robin wore? I need answers, and pictures, lots of pictures.”

* * *

**Adult Dick’s Perspective-**

Dick breathes out a sigh as he turns down the car radio ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ now playing softly in the background. It’s definitely not Dick’s genre of music, but it was Damian’s turn to pick the station today and it's better than some of the honest to god _creepy_ things the kid chooses to listen to from time to time.

Dick would take Guns n Roses over guys chanting in a foreign language any day of the week. (Though if Dick seriously thinks about it, he’s pretty sure Damian only makes them listen to that sort of junk in retaliation to Dick making Damian listen to Pop songs…)

“It’ll be nice to have Alfie’s cooking for a change, huh?” Dick tries to spike up some conversation. He isn’t sure were Dami’s at this afternoon and Dick can’t gage the kid’s mood.

The teenager’s been mostly silent the whole car ride, but he isn’t overly snappish either. Dick isn’t sure if Damian’s stewing in a silent anger or if the kid honestly has nothing to say. Either way, Dick needs to figure it out in the privacy of the car rather than at Wayne Manor.

“Pennyworth’s cooking will be a well-deserved respite from the constant onslaught of delivered _byproducts_ ,” Damian says from the passenger’s seat. He’s huddled up in a dark green hoodie and black skinny jeans, his earbuds wrapped around his neck, just like any other thirteen-year-old boy. (Save for the fact that Alfred The Cat is sleeping in Damian’s lap and Titus is resting his overly-large head on Damian’s shoulder)

When Bruce and Dick made the decision that Damian should stay at the Penthouse with Dick three weeks ago, Damian, of course, had taken his animals with him- and he thirteen-year-old had demanded that they come with Dick and himself to visit the Manor today.

(Dick didn’t see a reason to argue)

“Believe me kiddo,” Dick replies a moment later, letting his tone be cheerful and teasing, going for light and playful in place of prying or observant. “Takeout is _way_ better than anything I could cook.”

“Tt,” Damian tisks, though it isn’t a grumbled or angry sound more like an acknowledgment than anything else. “You do not have to tell me, Grayson. I have not forgotten the incident with the toaster oven.”

Good mood then, Dick reflects. This is Damian’s way of teasing, but it’s still a bit strained, too forced for Dick’s liking. So, Damian’s not necessarily _happy_ , but at least he seems compliant.

Dick’s dealt with worse, much worse.

“Hey!” Dick squawks as he makes a right-hand turn, though he isn’t offended the least bit. “One time that happened, _one time_.” Dick had tried to heat a Cinnabon in their brand-new toaster oven…and well… in the end, the fire extinguisher was emptied, and the toaster oven left blackened.

Damian gives a slow blink in reply, but his top lip twitches in a repressed smirk as he runs a hand down Alfred The Cat’s back, making the feline purr lowly.

Dick counts it as a win.

Damian’s been well behaved the past few weeks, Dick had thought he would be dealing with the silent treatment along with Damian demanding to be let home.

(Damian already has his own bedroom at Dick’s place, and Dick is fairly positive that Damian prefers the Penthouse over the Manor. But that doesn’t mean _squat_ if Damian feels forced and decides to make his own decisions for himself) 

But there have been no escape attempts or fits over the fact that Bruce and Dick had made a decision for Damian without consulting with him firsthand. Which had been a pleasant surprise, to say the least. 

Dick likes to think that’s because Damian has grown as a person over the past three years. The thirteen-year-old is more grounded and less pompous and possessive of Bruce. He of course still has his moments, but it’s better.

Better than Dick had thought it could ever grow to be when it came to _Damian Wayne_. 

“So are’ya gonna hang out with dad or…?” Dick asks, they’re almost to the Manor’s main gate now, just one more turn up the steep hill that leads to the grounds.

Dick isn’t sure if he should breach the subject of the Other Dick with Damian, not sure if that is something Damian is willing to address at this second.

Dick has tried to keep things as normal as they can possibly be for the thirteen-year-old over the past three weeks. Damian still patrols with Batman every other night and so The Dynamic Duo’s time together hasn’t been altered whatsoever. And Dick even talked Bruce into surprising Damian last Saturday with a visit to his favorite restaurant for a quick lunch.

Dick for his part, has tried to make the past few weeks go by quickly, taking Damian to the Zoo and out for ice-cream. The kid seems fine, he does school and trains during the day and he hangs out with Dick in the evenings before patrolling with Bruce at night.

Dick hopes that is enough…that these past few weeks have been fast-paced and enjoyable for Damian, so he won’t end up holding any resentment towards Dick’s younger counterpart for the situation.

It would be nice if everyone could move forward and figure out their New Normal rather than have to deal with extra drama added to their already hectic lives. 

But Dick can see how this whole situation could blow up in their faces.

Much like it did when Damian had taken on the Robin mantle, which in effect had left Tim in the lurch.

Dick knows that that had been his own fault, for the most part. He still feels the guilt over it when he looks at Tim, but if Dick was given the choice to go back and do things over again, he _wouldn’t._

Damian had needed Robin more than Tim had at the time. He was a rage-filled ten-year-old that was mourning the loss of his father, he had needed something to cleave to, something that would ground him before he fell over the edge and became someone that Dick would have to fight against rather than alongside.

Dick had had to stop that from happening.

But the decision that Dick had made changed his and Tim’s relationship in a way that Dick wishes he could have prevented. He hadn’t meant to isolate Tim or push him away.

Dick’s decision to make Damian Robin had been the right choice, but Dick should have asked Tim first, should have talked to him before he gave his name away.

Dick remembers how it felt when Bruce had fried him and then Jason (some punk kid, that didn’t know the first thing about crime fighting) had shown up in _his_ colors.

It had been a betrayal, painful like a kick in the gut, leaving Dick breathless.

And well, Dick never should have done the same to a fellow Robin.   
He should have been a better friend, he should have been a better _brother_.

Dick had been on edge, still in shock over Bruce’s supposed death, and left to wear the cowl he never wanted in the first place. He hadn’t been thinking about Tim’s mental state over losing another father, he had just been thinking of the responsibility he now had to Damian…who at the time, had still been on the road to become a killer.

Dick has been trying harder with Tim, has been since Tim came back to Gotham as Red Robin with evidence that Bruce was still alive and lost in time.

And sure, things are better between them, Dick still loves Tim with all his heart, that never changed. But Dick isn’t sure if Tim believes that fact anymore. He’s distant, has been trying to pull away from the family.

But Dick refuses to let that happen. He’s trying to make up for his mistakes, even if Tim insists that he has been forgiven.

Damian doesn’t look at Dick from the passenger’s seat, just scratches a finger under Titus’ chin as he answers, “I intend to _‘hang out’_ with father, yes,” Damian begins, seeming to bitterly taste the phrase ‘hang out’ for Dick’s benefit. “But firstly, I must attend to Batcow. I was unable to see her through her recovery.”

Dick lets a small smile grace his lips, “I’m sure Alfie made sure Batcow’s hoof healed properly.” Batcow cut her foot on something and the tissue around her hoof got a slight infection, it wasn’t a serious issue and it wouldn’t cause any complications- but Damian had been worried, Dick could tell.

“Tt,” Damian huffs looking down at Alfred The Cat. “I don’t doubt Pennyworth, I simply would like to check for myself.”

Dick hums in acknowledgment as he leans out of the car to type in the code for the Manor’s gate. The fact that Damian is so loving and protective of his pets just makes Dick love the kid even more.

Damian may not know how _people_ work, but you don’t have to have great social skills in order to get along with animals, they’ll stay loyal and stick to your side no matter your attitude.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the Manor itself and Dick doesn’t try to start up any more conversation, he’s a little busy trying to prepare himself.

It isn’t really a big deal, or at least it _shouldn’t_ be- but the fact that there is a younger version of himself running around, is well…odd. And that’s saying something because in Dick’s line of ‘work’ him feeling that something is strange takes a lot.

And okay, maybe it isn’t that the situation is all that weird in _itself_ , just that it’s more of a complication for Dick personally.

Dick’s sure that the younger Dick probably feels the same way.

Dick has already met the kid, though. It had been about a day after Tim had found the thin and bloodied teenager in a tattered and beat up Robin uniform on his side of the city while he was out on patrol as Red Robin.

Batman had contacted Nightwing while he was out on patrol, telling him to come back to the Cave because they had a ‘situation’.

Out of all the things that Dick could have guessed, a younger unconscious version of himself hadn’t even made the top hundred.

The younger Dick… (okay, this was confusing for Dick’s brain, he was going to refer to the kid as ‘Dickie’ in his head. That’s what Tim said he had done when he visited the teen last week) _Dickie_ had been beyond beat up, and they would have probably kept him under for a while, but with the concussion he suffered, Alfred didn’t feel it was safe to do so.

So, Dick, Bruce, and Tim had stayed vigil in the Cave. The three of them watching Dickie’s vitals and making sure he kept breathing. All while trying to figure out what the heck was going on, and where or _when_ this younger Dick Grayson was from.

Everything had been answered when they searched through Dickie’s utility belts and found a USB chip hidden in one of the pouches.

Plugging it into the Batcomputer it had shown four files, one labeled ‘Cowl/cam’, the next ‘Contingency/KKi3’, another ‘Dick’, and the last ‘Bruce’. 

Batman, of course, had clicked the latter, which, well, had shown another alternate Bruce.

It was a message from the alternate Bruce to Bruce himself. (The man looked younger, more like the Bruce that Dick had worked with his first few years as Robin)

The alternate Bruce had explained what happened to their world, had shown them the alien race that had come to Earth and wiped everything out.

It had been an uncomfortable experience, like a slap to the face, but it had also been enlightening in a way. To find out that other worlds, other Earths were being invaded and destroyed, leaving nothing behind.

Dick, of course, knew logically not all Earths in existence would survive. But to actually _see_ the footage, the destruction, it left Dick feeling even more determined.

It made him promise himself that he would do everything in his power, until his dying breath, to make sure such a disaster would never take his own world.

Of course, the other Bruce, _being Bruce_ , left a contingency plan for them, just in case the Invaders did ever make an appearance in their reality. Along with months’ worth of footage from the camera in his cowl and all the information and intel he had gathered on the evil aliens.

(Because apparently all Bruce(s), no matter what world, were paranoid beyond all belief and highly prepared for all situations)

Then there was the video addressed to Dickie... it was only then that Dick realized something.

That kid had lost _everything_ , his world, his friends, his family. He was the sole survivor of his Earth, and now he was stranded in a different reality after months of chase.

Dick didn’t know how he would deal with that amount of loss and he was a grown man, ten years older than the boy. It made him wonder where the kid was mentally. If he was scarred far more on the inside than he was on the outside.

Dick wasn’t sure how similar he would be to the teenager, because Dickie _wasn’t_ him. Dickie wasn’t a clone or even from this timeline, he was just a version of Dick, he wasn’t a copy.

But if Dickie was similar to Dick at all…then Dick knew _he_ had been beyond close to his own Bruce when he was that age, and they hadn’t been through a war together, they hadn’t been required to rely on one another nearly as much as his younger counterpart had had to…which makes the loss of Dickie’s Bruce a lot worse, all the more heartbreaking for the boy.

It had been then and there that Dick had decided whatever qualms he felt, whatever uncomfortable feelings he may have held, they _didn’t matter_. Because there was a traumatized kid that needed all the help he could get. It would be selfish of Dick to be anything other than welcoming. 

Once Bruce had shown Dickie the video left for him by his own Bruce- after the kid had had a breakdown and gone into shock, -it was decided that maybe the first thing he should wake up to, _shouldn’t_ be Bruce.

Not when he was still dealing with the loss of his own.

So, Dick had volunteered, had said that he would wait for the kid to wake up, and then gage where the teenager was mentally. Tim had looked doubtful, had suggested that he do it because he was an impartial party. But Dick had wanted to do it, had wanted to meet the kid for himself just so he could get it into his own brain that all of this was _real_.

Dickie had acted a lot like Dick had conducted himself at that age, granted with a bit more trepidation and world-weariness, but even still, Dick could see himself in the boy, which is why he could guess at the kid’s insecurities.

Dick had chosen to talk to the teenager in the shadows for a few reasons, one being that he didn’t want to freak the boy out, Dick could only imagine what it would be like to wake up and see a grown version of yourself sitting across from you.

But the main reason Dick hadn’t told the boy who he was, was because Dick thought he would be able to get a concrete read on the boy’s emotional state if Dickie thought he was nothing more than a stranger.

That, of course, would change today when Dick met Dickie face to face, no shadows or beams of light to hide behind. And okay, it was making Dick a little wary, it was weird talking to a younger version of yourself, but it was just something that Dick would have to get past.

Because as they have all discussed, Dickie _is here to stay_.

“Alright kiddo,” Dick slaps his thighs as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. “I’ll let Titus out,” he tells Damian, as he slides out of the car. A moment later Dick opens the door for the black Great Dane to hop out, Damian on the other side still holding Alfred The Cat.

“Come, Titus,” Damian says, patting the dog’s head as Titus bounds forward, and then- “good boy.” Almost to lowly for Dick to hear.

Dick ruffles Damian’s hair as he passes the teen up the stairs, not missing the scowl the move earns him. Dick is about to stick his key into the lock when the large door swings open of its own accord, Alfred standing there pristine as ever.

“Alfie!” Dick greets the Butler, “you must’ve missed us a bunch if you were waiting by the door this whole time,” Dick teases the older man.

Alfred moves aside to let the boys in. “I simply heard your vehicle’s approach, Master Richard,” he replies. 

Dick smiles, “nah,” he scrunches up his nose, “you _missed_ us. It’s been too long,” Dick declares as he goes in for the hug.

The Englishman knows better than to fight it, all pretenses of polite etiquette having melted away with Dick’s many displays of physical affection over the years. A moment later Dick feels a prim hand patting his back in return.

Ah, Alfred, he is the best.

“It has not been three days since I last saw you, Master Dick,” Alfred says as Dick pulls away.

Dick had thought he would pass Alfred in height once he became an adult, (he hadn’t ever dreamed of passing Bruce, the man is a _freakin' giant_ ) but Dick and Alfred are only half an inch apart, and while Dick is the taller of the two, half an inch doesn’t count for much.

“ _I know_ , a whole 72 hours Alfie, it’s been agony,” Dick says with a wink, hearing Damian mumble _“imbecile,”_ under his breath in the background.

Dick ignores the teenager as he follows Alfred to the kitchen, Damian and Titus behind on their heels, Alfred The Cat seemingly having run off somewhere while Dick wasn’t paying attention. 

“I have prepared stew and a loaf of bread for a late lunch,” Alfred says, the same instant that the smell of sweet bread and garlic hit Dick… ( _holy homecooked meal Batman_. Yup, yup, Alfred’s cooking beats eating cold pizza and cereal any day of the week) “I set a meatless portion aside as well, Master Damian,” Alfred finishes a moment later.

“I am sure the meal will be pleasant, Pennyworth,” Damian compliments, “Titus and I, however, have some business to attend to out in the barn.” The teen starts for the backdoor leading to the grounds, his loyal dog by his side.

Alfred hums, “she is grazing in the field, Master Damian, you should find her easily,” the Butler informs.

Damian stops for a moment not looking back, saying, “thank you, Pennyworth.” Before quickly closing the door behind him.

The boy is far humbler than he used to be, Dick can still clearly recall the how he referred to Alfred as ‘servant’ when he first arrived at the Manor. Throwing his food away and demanding all information be disclosed to him because he was the ‘true son’.

Boy, thing sure have changed over the past few years. Damian has mellowed out extremely. The teen of course will always be Damian, and Damian wouldn’t be _Damian_ if he didn’t have some rough edges. But Dick thinks he and Bruce have done a good job, he wouldn’t want Damian any other way at this point, and honestly, Dick doesn’t know what he would do without the kid by his side.

“So, Alfie,” Dick chirps as he slides onto a barstool, watching as the Butler stirs the contents of a large pot. ( _Ugh_ , Dick’s stomach is already grumbling) “Gimme all the gossip, what’s goin’ on?”

Alfred blinks down at the stew as he places the lid back on, immune to Dick’s witty charm. “I am dismayed to inform you, Master Dick, that not much goes on here at the Manor that you yourself do not already know.”

Dick scrunches his face as he places his chin into the palm of his hand, “okay…” he starts. “Well how’s the kid doing?” he asks, getting right to the point.

‘Dickie’ is still the most exciting thing going on in their lives right now, (and that is saying something since Dick and Jason had a run in with Killer Crock two nights ago) Dick can’t help being curious or maybe even a bit concerned.

The teenager went through a horrible ordeal and he’s only had Bruce and Alfred to help him adjust to life here in a different reality. Dick can’t help feeling worried over the kid. Though Dick had asked to be in the loop when it came to their new ‘situation’, and surprisingly Bruce had kept Dick up to date with Dickie’s progression.

And well, Dick had thought it only appropriate to tell Tim, (c’mon he had to talk about _something_ while out on patrol) and Tim had told Stephanie (because Stephanie had ‘needed’ the details) And Stephanie had blabbed to Barbara and Cass (because women talk) and Barbara had told Jason, (because Barbara can do whatever she wants)

 _Annnnnd_ , that is how Dick ended up forwarding all his texts from Bruce regarding Dickie, to a group-chat dubbed ‘Dickie the Second’. (Dick is pretty sure Tim is the one that changed the name, but he has no proof, and Tim denies it)

“The young Master was very pleased two days ago, at having permission to take the splint off of his fingers,” Alfred informs Dick from across the kitchen island, picking up a knife to begin chopping a clove of garlic. “Though he was displeased to find he is still required to wear the sling for his shoulder.”

Dick huffs a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort, he can imagine, slings _suck_. “How long do’ya think he’ll be stuck in the sling?” Dick asks with unveiled sympathy.  

The left corner of Alfred’s lips twitch at having heard Dick’s disgusted tone when it comes to wearing any sort of cast or sling, the man knows full well how much Dick hates any sort of restriction.

“You were always one to heal fairly quickly, Master Richard, I imagine the boy will have the sling off within a fortnight.”

So somewhere around two weeks, that’s not _so horrible_ …of course, if Dick himself was the one in the sling, he would probably be viewing the situation differently.

“Where is he now?” Dick asks, he hasn’t heard any activity in the Manor, but the teenager could just be with Bruce somewhere since the man is home today.

Alfred hums, scraping the knife over the cutting board to pile the garlic at the end. “The young lad was sound asleep in the recreation room half an hour ago, I doubt that he has relocated.” 

Dick smiles as he stands up, “thanks Al,” he says, turning away from the Butler to head toward the family room. He might as well get it over with and greet the kid now while Damian is out, there’s no use in putting it off when that had been the whole point in Dick and Damian visiting the Manor today anyway.

Plus, Dick needs to meet the kid before anyone else gets the chance, it was bad enough when Tim beat him to it, but when _Jason_ had texted the group-chat saying, _‘I like the new Dick better’,_ well, Dick refused to be the last one to officially meet the boy.

(The first time didn’t count, Dickie had been concussed, and Dick hadn’t even revealed his identity to the younger)

The door to the family room has been left ajar, the quiet sounds of the TV playing leaking into the hallway, the noise of a laugh-track echoing softly in Dick’s ears.

The man presses the door open with a poke of a finger, sliding past the wood, and in without a sound, just in case the teenager is still asleep.

However, what Dick had dubbed as silent, apparently was not good enough because barely two steps into the room, a head of black puffy hair was shooting up from the couch to look over at him with wide blue eyes. 

“Hi,” Dick says, stopping at the threshold, watching as the startled expression slides off of the younger boy’s face to change to something similar to confusion. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Dick opts to say, giving a little smirk to show he’s friendly.

The teenager looks far better than he had the last time Dick saw him, his face is no longer scraped and bruised, just that pink scar on the side of his head and the sling that is holding up his arm as the only indicators that the boy had been severely injured a few weeks ago.

Other than that, Dickie appears to be like any other teenage boy…except for the obvious fact that he looks exactly like Dick had at that age. (Save for the shaggy hair and scar on his face)

“You, um…” the younger starts, blinking a few times at Dick, seeming to be more awake but less watchful now, having determined for himself that older Dick isn’t a threat.

“I, was just dozing,” he goes on, but his voice has gotten softer as he stares at Dick, the teenager’s dark eyebrows scrunching together in thought as he studies the older boy.  

“ _Y-you’re_ ,” Dickie stutters. Dick can see the exact moment the younger boy figures it out, “ _you-you_ …you, look like _mom_ ,” he finally settles on one thought, chewing on his bottom lip as he blurts out the statement.

Dick huffs a laugh, but it sounds a little wet even to his own ears. “So do _you_ ,” he says back with a chuckle, the three words holding a lot more meaning than they should, for a lot more reasons than just one.

(It’s true though, Dick had always figured he would end up looking more like his dad. But in the end, it was just his father’s dark skin, jawline, and ebony hair that Dick inherited, everything else was purely _mom_ )

Dick smiles as he sits in a leather reclining chair across from his younger counterpart. Going for open and non-threatening, letting the boy puzzle everything together for himself. Dick sees no point in rushing the kid, this is kind of a big deal.

Dickie looks a little lost for the moment, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s actively studying the adult version of himself. It makes Dick feel a little uncomfortable, like he’s under a microscope, every inch of him judged and examined.

But honestly, he can’t say he isn’t watching the kid a bit interestedly himself.

“You’re the guy I talked to when I first woke up,” Dickie says after a moment, drawing his legs under himself to sit on, almost curled up around his hurt arm in a protective way. Dick thinks that is more of an instinctual action though, he’s not going to take the slightly defensive posture personally.

“That’s me,” Dick says, still going for light and slightly playful. He isn’t sure how the little him is going to take to meeting a twenty-four-year-old version of himself, there could be resentment there, possibly jealousy, perhaps even hesitance.

The kid blows an exasperated raspberry with his lips, “you could’ve _told_ me,” he says, and that definitely sounds more teasing than he had been before. It is still forced humor though, Dick can tell, he, of course, can read the younger boy ( _‘duh’_ it’s his younger self)

Dick can see that the boy is still slightly uncomfortable, holding himself too taught; maybe even a bit wary with the way he keeps sucking on his bottom lip as well.

(That was a habit Dick forced himself out of back in his Robin days, it wasn’t a good thing to do when you were an acrobat, you’d eventually end up biting through your lip if you weren’t careful enough, especially while in a fight) 

“Yeah?” Dick asks, leaning back in the recliner and raising an eyebrow, “you don’t think that would have freaked you out? Because I’d freak out if some version of myself was sitting at my bedside while I slept.”

Dickie scrunches his nose, his posture loosening ever so slightly, “well when you say it like _that_ it makes it seem creepy,” he says. “Then it was just radio silence for like a week,” the boy mumbles softly.

Dick shrugs, not missing the accusation in that statement, “we were giving you space,” he discloses.

Dickie chews in his bottom lip again, cocking his head to the side in question, “so…you’re _okay_ with this?” he asks, no need to elaborate on what he is referring too.

Dick sits up a bit straighter, letting his face go neutral- showing that he is serious as he looks into the set of blue eyes that match his own. “It wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t. You’re just as entitled to this life as I am.” 

The teenager shifts, rolling his uninjured shoulder forward.

Okay, that wasn’t the answer he had wanted to hear apparently.

The elder Dick goes on, tries again, “it’s gonna take some getting used to. But no, Dick, I don’t mind.” (boy, is it weird to address someone else with his own name)

The kid blinks, glances over to the TV (a rerun of ‘The Big Bang Theory’ is playing quietly on the flat screen) the boy seems to think Dick’s words over before he looks back to his older self. But still, he doesn’t say anything.

Dick leans forward, places his forearms on his knees so that his head is more on level with the small teen in front of him (had he really been that short at _fourteen_?) “Are _You_ okay with this?” Dick repeats the question.  

Dickie looks shocked by the inquiry at first, as if he hadn’t considered his own opinion of any importance.

(Yup definitely less outspoken than Dick had been at that age. Dick had learned by then if he didn’t make his feelings clear, then Bruce would roll right over him…or maybe that had happened a bit later…maybe Dick had had to learn how to push back later on when he had already joined the Titans and Bruce was becoming unreasonable.

Bruce of course had been less passive while out of the mask. But while in the mask, that is where Dick and B had really grown apart over the years. That was in the past now, however, all those old fights buried, and for the most part, forgotten.

But Dick still carries that lesson, remembers not to ever let himself be bulldozed over)

“I will be,” Dickie finally states after a moment of silence. Looking down at his hands with the words.

Dick lets himself lean back into the leather of the large chair, smiling, relieved, “and hey,” the older begins, “ _two_ Dick Graysons!? That’s _twice_ the fun-”

“Or double the trouble,” another voice interrupts from the entranceway, both Dicks turn, finding Bruce’s tall form standing there, Damian by his side.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, *slides hand down face* I did it...tis a true miracle.
> 
> I was planning to get everyone (for the most part) introduced in this chapter. But it was getting pretty long so I guess Damian and lil Dick's meeting will have to wait until next time.
> 
> (Hope that having the two Dicks interact wasn't too confusing? I tried my best with the whole name thing)
> 
> Alright kiddos, I hope that this was a satisfying chapter. Please let me know what you think, but until then-
> 
> ~Fernandidilly-yo out!


	4. Dysfunctions of Another Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the random and unexpected hiatus. I realized that over in this fandom I never explained that I have severe health problems so you all had no idea why I just disappeared.
> 
> So just a heads up, both the Dick(s) will be referring to themselves as _'Dick'_ while in their own perspectives, I feel it would be out of character for them to think of themselves otherwise. But I think (hope) I did a pretty good job of making it easy to read, just keep it in mind.
> 
>  **Trigger Warning-** Mention of Blood

 

**Dickie’s Perspective-**

His older self is…not entirely what Dick expected.

But really what is a person supposed to expect when meeting an older version of one’s self? Weirdness and awkward conversation, _that’s what_ , and yeah, there was some of that, but there were some normal things spoken too.

Dick has some questions he would like to ask, things like- _‘what took you so long!?’_ or _‘why’d you give up Robin?_ ’ and _‘did you make it into the Justice League?’_ because he’s been wondering those things for weeks now and Dick is about ready to _burst_ with curiosity.

However, before Dick can even think to voice his questions Bruce unexpectedly speaks up from the doorway, _“or double the trouble,”_ and Dick and his older counterpart turn to find the man and another boy standing at the entrance to the family room side by side.

Dick feels himself blink at the sight of another teenager, he looks to be about Dick’s age, with dark skin, spiky hair, and a frown on his face. He is the youngest person Dick has seen in, well…probably around eight months, maybe more.

“Dick,” Bruce begins, and both Dicks glance over to the man. “This is Damian,” he says, addressing the younger version of Dick Grayson. Bruce’s hand goes to the boy- _Damian’s_ , upper back with the introduction, gently pressing the teen into the room.

Oh- _oh_ , so this is Bruce’s _real_ son, his biological son.

Dick should have expected this.

Dick thought he rid his system of that random burning jealousy he had felt when he first found out Bruce had a biological child, but it rears its ugly head again, twisting sharply in Dick’s stomach as he realizes _who_ he is staring at.

Dick sucks on his bottom lip, pressing the emotion down. He isn’t allowed to feel any jealousy, this Bruce is not solely his…he never was.

Dick just needs to learn how to deal.

The boy, _Damian_ , gives a curt nod before addressing Dick, “Richard,” he says as something like a greeting.

(Is that what they’re going to call him? He’d be ‘Richard’ and the older him would be ‘Dick’? The fourteen-year-old’s not sure if he likes that very much)

Dick begins to climb off the couch, his good hand already coming up for a shake (is that weird? Is it weird to shake someone’s hand when you are _technically_ brothers and you both already know of one another? Dick doesn’t know the proper etiquette for this wacko situation, **_there is no handbook for this!_ )**

But as Dick rolls to the balls of his feet, the couch no longer blocking his view, the teenager is able to spot something he hadn’t been able to see while sitting down.

There is a dog.

A large, black, Great Dane, to be more precise.

Dick takes a half step back before he can stop himself, almost tripping over his own feet in his surprise, his eyes going wide as he stares at the large dog.

The other teenager and the canine both stop at the edge of the carpet at Dick’s reaction, a moment later Damian puts his palm down-flat, a signal to the dog to stay put, and the Great Dane immediately halts its approach. 

Because-because _of course_ the dog is trained, of course it would be well mannered and disciplined if it is allowed in Bruce’s house… _no, scratch that_. The dog would have to be trained in order to ever step foot in _Alfred’s_ house, the Englishman wouldn’t stand for it otherwise.

Dick doesn’t notice Bruce circling around the couch, doesn’t see the man approaching him until Bruce gently cups his elbow, the teen flinches away from the touch, twisting around to look up at Bruce- while making sure that he can still see the Great Dane in his peripheral.

Dick doesn’t know where this bout of anxiety has come from. It’s a _freakin’ dog for crying out loud_ , he’s never been afraid of animals a day in his life!

Except…

Except, Dick hasn’t seen an animal bigger than a squirrel in almost a year, and the last thing that he had encountered that walked on all fours had been trying to rip him apart.  

_Dripping teeth,_

_Needle-like hair,_

_Rancid breath,_

_Snarling grunts,_

_Sharp claws,_

All coming at Dick, going for his face and clamping down on his forearm. The high-pitched screeching drowning out the sounds of the acid rain falling to the pavement outside.

But Dick _had_ to get up, had to run- because _they were coming!_

The Invaders would be here any minute and Dick needed to get away, but its body was on top of his, pressing and _pressing_ and _**pressing** _ until he couldn’t _breathe_ and-

“Dick,” Bruce says, quietly snapping the teen back to reality. “Breathe,” he commands lowly, and it is only then that Dick realizes his breaths have sped up, that his chest feels constricted and tight and his head is pounding in time with his racing heartbeat.

Bruce is kneeling in front of Dick, wearing black dress pants and a maroon button up, outfitted more casually for a day spent at the Manor instead of the office. His dark blue eyes are filled with concern, but nothing else, there isn’t any pity there, or bewilderment like Dick might have expected.

It makes Dick want to hug him, want to bury his face into the man’s chest and take in the smell of his cologne. (Bruce’s favorite fragrance, because his own father had worn it while he was a boy) But instead of diving into his guardian like he wants to, Dick tries to collect himself and explain his frantic behavior.

“I-I wasn’t expecting a-a _dog_ ,” Dick says, but his voice is choked and slightly horse, (awe, one heck of a way to make a first impression _huh Dick_? So, so _stupid_ )

Bruce doesn’t comment, just tilts his head to the side slightly. Taking Dick’s stance in, taught and ready for a fight. Dick forces himself to loosen up, to take in a deep breath- he needs to calm down and relax.

Nothing is wrong.

Everything is alright _._

He’s in the Manor.

He’s with Bruce.

Nothing can hurt him.

He’s _fine_.

(Maybe if Dick repeats that to himself a few more times his stupid body will start to believe him)

B gives Dick’s unhurt arm a light squeeze, before stating, “we can send Titus, _the dog_ -” he clarifies, “-out, if you would like?” Bruce’s blue eyes are still taking everything in, calculating and perceptive- _Batman_.

Dick shakes his head, making his too long hair shift into his eyes, “no-no, I’m fine.”

The look that Bruce gives Dick clearly states he does not believe the boy, but Bruce just straightens up, slipping his large hand to Dick’s shoulder and leading the younger back to his place on the plush couch.

Dick chews on his lip as he settles on the cushions, gathering his legs under himself as Bruce takes a seat right next to fourteen-year-old, making the couch dip so that Dick’s body leans toward his father figure. (Dick doesn’t mind, could really use the human contact right now)

Damian has practically folded himself around the Great Dane on the floor- as if to protect or comfort the dog. Dick can’t tell what the look on the other boy’s face means, but he appears kind of irritated, maybe calculating, and that is when Dick has the realization that he is surrounded by _Bats_ , and Bats can read people very easily, it’s trained into them after all…

Dick shifts, uncertain on the couch, feeling like he is being thoroughly examined. “…Uh.” The fourteen-year-old begins to fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt, his other hand balled into a tight fist against the fabric of his chest.

“Sorry,” he settles on, glancing over at his older self and the other teen. This was definitely _not_ how Dick would’ve liked their first meeting to go. They must think he’s a pathetic mess. Who freaks out just because they see a _dog!?_

“Nothing to be sorry for,” the elder Dick replies immediately, his tone gentle. (Dick isn’t sure what he is supposed to call the man. Because the teenager isn’t even sure what the rest of the Bats will be calling _him_ \- and isn’t _**that**_ confusing)

The other boy on the floor, _Damian_ , uncurls from around his dog to sit up straighter, one of his hands playing with the Great Dane’s folded ear as he looks up at Dick.

The dog is eyeing Dick with big sad brown eyes, his tail lying motionless on the carpet, it makes the fourteen-year-old feel like he’s done something wrong.

Dick bites his lip, hesitant for another instant- the atmosphere in the room is now tense and awkward, and Dick is pretty sure they’re all waiting for _him_ to slice through it, waiting for Dick to make the first move.

(The teenager isn’t really sure if that is considerate of them, or too big a responsibility to put on his shoulders in this odd and _sorta-kinda_ humiliating satiation) 

Dick pushes through it anyway.

“W-what’s his name?” Dick asks, his free hand roaming over to find Bruce’s without him consciously realizing it. Bruce slips his hand into Dick’s without batting an eye, the boy now fiddling with the man’s scarred fingers.

“Titus,” Damian answers, almost to the point of being curt, but his voice is calm. His lips pinched and his eyes taking on that look that Bruce’s do when he is trying to puzzle a particularly difficult case together. (The similarities in the two’s mannerisms make Dick’s chest twinge. It isn’t difficult to see that this is Bruce’s _blood_ son) 

Before Damian speaks again though, he gives a quick glance to the elder Dick still sitting in the recliner chair. Maybe Damian is looking for reassurance, he could be just as on-edge about this whole thing as Dick currently is. Or maybe he is asking for the go-ahead, seeing what his limits are now that they’ve witnessed Dick’s little freakout.

Damian’s green eyes are sharp and intense as the two brothers have a quick transaction that Dick himself cannot read between the two (essentially) strangers, he doesn’t know their ticks yet, not enough to be able to make out a silent conversation between them- _Bat-speak_.

“Titus is well trained,” Damian says a moment later, turning away from his older brother to look back at Dick. “He will not harm you,” he finishes, and Dick isn’t sure if the other teen is trying to _comfort_ him, or if he is just defending his dog, Damian’s voice is so neutral it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.

It irritates Dick to admit (even to himself) that he is having a bit of trouble interpreting this boy. (Though that could be because he met him all of ten minutes ago) But he is a Bat, and if a Bat does not want to be read…well, there isn’t much you can do to open up that locked book.

Dick nods to acknowledge Damian, clenching his jaw with the motion.

Dick knows that the dog won’t hurt him- he _knows_ that.

It was just…it was…he hadn’t been _prepared_ and now Dick feels on edge and totally wrung out. He would like to be alone with Bruce right now, let himself calm fully down from the flood of memories- from the abrupt adrenaline rush. The fourteen-year-old still feels like a tightly coiled spring, jittery and nervous.

But Dick just needs to push past it, because he _can’t_ have Bruce all to himself…because like he said before, Bruce no longer solely belongs to Dick…technically… _technically_ , this Bruce _never_ solely belonged to Dick…

“I know…” Dick says after a moment, taking in a breath through his nose. He doesn’t know how to explain himself, he must seem like a baby; folded up on the couch next to Bruce staring at a perfectly behaved dog with wide scanning eyes.

“It’s just been… I haven’t …I-I wasn’t expecting it,” Dick stops himself, takes in a deep breath as his hand wraps around Bruce’s thumb before going back to fiddling with the man’s long fingers.   

“You have not seen any non-threatening animals for an extended amount of time,” Damian says when Dick cuts off, his hand still going down the Great Dane’s spine in a measured pattern, ( _up, down, a scratch behind the right ear_ , and repeat)

Damian states his words, they are not a question, he is sure of what he has said, and he does not require confirmation from Dick. It is very _Bruce_ thing to do, very Batman of him.

Dick answers the statement anyway. “I haven’t seen _real_ animals in…in a very long time.” Dick can’t help that he might squeeze Bruce’s hand a little too tightly as he stumbles over his words, can’t help that he looks down to their entangled fingers to ground himself a moment later.

But it doesn’t seem to matter because Bruce squeezes Dick’s fingers right back in way of response. The unspoken words, ‘ _you’re okay,’_ whispered in that small movement, because not everything needs to be voiced to be said.

* * *

Damian calls Alfred- ‘Pennyworth’, Bruce- ‘Father’, and the older Dick- ‘Grayson’.

Which is odd and very formal, Dick can’t say he wasn’t slightly caught off guard by the other teenager’s overly proper attitude when it comes to family.

But it will come in handy for the fourteen-year-old in one way-

While Dick refuses to call Alfred anything other than Alfred or Alfie, (maybe the occasional _Al_ if Dick feels the inclination to do so) and Bruce will always just be Bruce or B (the teenager can’t see himself ever calling Bruce _‘dad’_. Sure, Dick had come to think of Bruce as a second father around the time he turned twelve, (realizing the fact that Bruce filling that role didn’t mean he was taking John Grayson place) But just because Dick felt that way about Bruce, didn’t mean he was gonna go around throwing out the ‘D’ word all willy-nilly) 

-So, while Damian’s names for Alfred and Bruce are too formal for Dick to use, his name for the _elder_ Dick will fit real nicely.

The fourteen-year-old has been pondering what to call the older version of himself for weeks now, lying in bed wondering what Bruce’s children would call _him_ and what he would have to refer to the elder Dick as in return.

‘Grayson’ fits the bill just fine though.

Maybe not _out loud_ , -because Dick doesn’t want to seem like he is copying Damian or trying to take claim of the name ‘Dick’ for himself, when clearly his older counterpart had it first- but now Dick at least has something to call the man in his head, it would make things less confusing for the teenager.  

Alfred has made some of his awesome stew and a loaf of homemade bread to boot. It’s a filling and warm meal, one that Dick has come to love over the years, it’s familiar and settles nicely in Dick’s slightly queasy stomach, making him feel full and content- _comfort food_.

Dick doesn’t think that is a mere coincidence, the Butler is always three steps ahead of them it seems. (The Englishman is the real mastermind behind the whole Wayne household/Bat operation going on around here, don’t let anyone tell you anything to the contrary)

“So,” Grayson starts from across the table, Damian to his left, Dick and Bruce sitting in front of him. “Fourteen huh?” the man goes on, “so you were headed towards high school then?” he asks, shoving some bread into his mouth with the last few words, earning a disapproving eyebrow raise from one proper Butler.

Dick nods, “yeah,” he agrees, “’was about to finish eighth grade, but it was all held in the same building so really nothing would’ve changed.” Do they already know that? Was it the same way for Grayson? Where do the similarities begin and end?

Dick spins his spoon around his bowl, cutting a potato in half with the tip before he huffs a small laugh to himself. “I remember Wally was tryin’ to give me _pointers_ ,” he begins, still looking at his stew rather than meeting anyone’s eyes. “But nothing really applied since I went to private and he was-”

 _“Public,”_ both Dicks say at the same time, matching blue eyes catching across the table for a small moment before the fourteen-year-old forces himself to look away.

There’s a pause, a lull in conversation, Dick takes a breath, pushes past it- _talking_ , Dick is good at talking, maybe a little _too_ good.

“He was gonna turn sixteen. He-he couldn’t decide if he wanted to bother getting his driver’s license or not.” A small, slightly sad, smile lifts the corners of the teenager’s face at the statement.

Dick misses Wally like crazy, it’s hard not being allowed to talk, to share with his best friend, knowing that he will never see Wally again, never patrol or play video games with him, never prank or have sleepovers with the redhead again.

Wally had been one of the first people to die that had truly broken Dick’s heart.

But at the same time, Dick’s grateful that Wally never had to experience being actively hunted, hadn’t been there long enough to see their Earth burn to ash. Wally had given his life thinking they still stood a chance at winning, at saving the world from complete devastation.

“Did he ever…?” Dick asks a moment later, trailing off with the question directed at Grayson.

The man gives a half smile, running a hand through his black hair, “yeah,” he says, “he gave in, passed on his third try.”

Dick snorts, “third?” he asks, “how is he now?” the teen can’t help but wonder aloud.

Grayson returns the snort, “ _impatient_ ,” is the one-worded response.

“Ha,” Dick huffs, _figures_ , Wally has always had trouble slowing down, though Dick can’t say he can blame the guy. “So, he’s what twenty-”

“Twenty-six,” Grayson supplies, taking a large bite of stew and chewing for a moment. “He’s the Flash now,” he goes on after a swallow, “and _married_.”

Dick pauses, his spoon halfway to his lips. “Wally got _married_?” That just seems so, so _wrong_.

Of course, the Wally that Dick is picturing is a sixteen-year-old boy, not a full-grown man, so maybe Dick will feel differently when he meets this new Wally—

_Wait._

Does Dick even get to meet the other heroes? He doesn’t actually know; he and Bruce haven’t discussed whether or not Dick will be returning to Hero Work, and Dick hasn’t found the courage to ask.

The fourteen-year-old pushes down those questions though, they are for a time when he and Bruce are alone, where Dick and B can really hash things out. Which, evidently, is not while Dick makes small talk with his older self. (Man, Dick’s life just gets weirder and weirder, which is _saying_ something)

Dick tries for a joke, to make himself feel better if for nothing else. “Who’s the guy?” he asks, smiling behind his glass of water when Grayson splutters into his soup.

“Imma tell him you asked that,” the older says, still laughing, “her name’s Linda,” he finishes.

But before Dick can ask anything else Damian finally speaks up, having been fairly quiet the whole meal. Dick still isn’t sure where he stands with the kid, because though they are so close in age, Damian doesn’t seem all that friendly.

“West is highly dysfunctional,” he says, it borders the lines of an announcement, he’s talking to no one in particular, more like the room itself. “But nowhere near as disorderly as Allen.”

Again, with the last names, this kid is so weird.

“Don’t be mean Dami,” Grayson says, but it doesn’t sound scolding, amused more than anything else, fond. Dick wonders why his older-self seems to like Damian so much, there must be something he’s missing about the other boy- he needs to stay open minded.

“All of those speedsters really,” Damian ignores his older brother. “They have no impulse control.”

“We’ve all made reckless decisions,” Bruce says from the end of the table, the statement seems pointed, but not enough to be a reprimand.

Dick watches the interactions between the three in a quiet curiosity, it goes on long enough that his soup dish is whisked away by Alfred and replaced with strawberry shortcake; long enough that their words become lost to Dick as he watches their mannerisms instead, taking note and tucking the information away for later.

Damian has a foreign accent, and the hints of a slight lisp that he has worked hard to repress. He sits straight and taught in his chair, even while in his own home, though he doesn’t appear to be _uncomfortable_ , per say.

Everything about Damian speaks proud and proper, it makes Dick wonder what his childhood must have been like- even if this kid is Bruce’s blood son, (and clearly, he is, it shows in the way he moves) it doesn’t make sense that he would be so stiff.

Bruce never tried to squash down the playfulness of youth, or at least he didn’t in Dick’s case.

Sure, it was different while out in the field, that was the time to be professional and calculating, you couldn’t afford to make childish mistakes while out fighting bad-guys.

But at home- at home, Dick had _always_ been allowed to be himself, which a lot of the time, if Dick is being honest, was a complete and utter spaz-ball.

So, what has made Damian the way he is?

That’s what Dick would like to know.

His silence doesn’t go unnoticed, however, Bruce gives the fourteen-year-old an assessing look, ‘you okay?’ his eyes ask.

To which Dick gives a slight nod and a small smile ‘I’m fine,’ it answers.

And shockingly, Dick finds that it’s true.

Watching Bruce interact with his oldest and youngest, seeming fond and content, eating at the dinner table as if they are any other normal household- It’s like Dick is observing from the other side of a window, looking at what he had always hoped Bruce could achieve one day, a family, one that he could openly love and care for without feeling like he was desecrating his parents’ memory.

He’s glad that this Bruce could have that, could attain that, even if his own Bruce never will.

* * *

**Adult Dick’s Perspective-**

Dick leans himself against the countertop, the edge of it digging into his hips uncomfortably.

He sips on his mug of chocolate milk as he waits, (because you can _never_ be too old for chocolate milk, no matter what Tim tells you) Bruce should be making his way up from the Cave and into the kitchen any minute now, and Dick is content to wait the man out until he does.

Patrol had been quick and more like a good workout than anything else. There had been nothing huge going down tonight, Batman and Robin have just finished up one of their bigger cases.

And Nightwing couldn’t take down the latest Drug Peddlers he’s been tracking without the Red Hood since it bordered Jason’s territory, but _priorities_ , Dick’ll get to that later. 

After the day of awkward conversation and tiptoeing around Dickie they had all needed to stretch out their muscles and let loose for a few hours. Not that it had been unpleasant, just, very bizarre. And Dick could tell something was bothering Damian, but again, _priorities_. 

Batman, Robin, and Nightwing had taken to the rooftops tonight; Nightwing tagging along with the Dynamic Duo for old times’ sake. (Though Dick still isn’t sure if those feelings of nostalgia he had felt while flipping around with B and lil D had been from working with Batman again, or if they had been because he was with _his_ Robin)

Either way, it had made him feel lighter as he leaped from one skyscraper to the next.

Dick sure didn’t miss having to wear the cowl of Batman, (he didn’t want to bear the weight of that responsibility, no matter how selfish that may be) but Dick did miss getting to work so closely with Damian, it wasn’t the same without his partner there to watch his back.  

 “I wasn’t expecting you to still be awake Dick,” Bruce says as he steps into the kitchen, his hair damp from his recent shower and his stance more relaxed after a nice patrol.

Dick pushes off from the counter, giving Bruce a crooked smile in the soft light of the kitchen. “You’re good with him you know,” Dick skips right to what he had wanted to say, because he honestly can’t think of a subtle segue into this conversation, and Bruce was never one for subtlety anyway.

Bruce shifts, broad shoulders almost giving a shrug before aborting mission halfway through the gesture. “It’s not my first time,” he says, monotone. 

Dick rubs the toes of his right foot down the opposite calf of his sweatpants as he glances at B, giving a half shrug of his own. “Not your first time being a father?” he asks for clarification.

“Not my first time with _you_ ,” Bruce answers as he moves forward, leaning against the island across from Dick, crossing his arms over his chest. “I already know what he needs.”

Dick hums, holds in the heavy sigh that wants to puff out of his chest. “He’s jumpy and uncertain,” Dick tells Bruce, “it took _me_ years to feel like you wouldn’t send me away, and I didn’t reality jump or have other kids to compete with to make those feelings worse.”

Bruce’s jaw jumps, like Dick’s words had been a blow, rather than what he had meant them to be. “I know I should have done things differently with you Richard, and if I cou-” he starts, but Dick shakes his head, planting his open palm to Bruce’s shoulder, before giving it a squeeze to show he hadn’t meant anything hostile by the comment.

“That’s not… That isn’t what this is about,” Dick tells Bruce, not breaking eye contact with the man as he speaks. “You were late adopting me, but you eventually _did,_ and that’s all that matters.”

Dick lets his hand slip off of Bruce, taking a step back to restore their personal bubbles, because God knows Bruce’s space is very important to him. (Not that that has ever deterred Dick in the slightest, he’s always been a cuddler. But now he has a bunch of little brothers to fling himself at if he feels the sudden urge, so Bruce is mostly safe from his clutches now)

“All I’m sayin’ is that Dickie’s gonna need reassurance that he is here to stay. And the way you are with him… It’s _good_. He’s really attached to you and Alf, and just…” Dick takes in a breath, tries to find his words, isn’t even sure why he felt the need to say these things to Bruce in the first place. “You’re a good father Bruce.”

Bruce seems shocked by Dick’s words, or well, as shocked as Batman can be, which is to say he stays silent for a few seconds before giving an almost nonexistent nod. “Thank you, Dick.”

* * *

**Dickie’s Perspective-**

Dick’s socked feet _‘plip plop’_ down the hall towards one of the smaller studies of the Manor.

Bruce is at WE today and Grayson already left by the time Dick woke up this morning, probably at his job, whatever that was… Dick should probably ask.

Which left Alfred, Damian, and Dick at the Manor today.

Or at least Dick thought Damian was still here, he had seen the tail end (heh, _puns_ ) of the dog (Titus) walking around a corner earlier, which probably meant that the other teenager was here somewhere, (the dog was practically glued to Damian’s hip) but Dick had yet to actually find the thirteen-year-old…

Most people might take that as a hint that Damian didn’t want to be found, which yeah, that was probably the case, he did seem like the broody loner type- but so did Bruce until you finally cracked’em. (By which Dick means harassed the man into an amused fondness)

Whatever works, Dick’s got charm out the wazoo!

He had to if he wanted to be a performer.

Dick pokes his head into the study, seeing a head of spiky hair sitting in the middle of one of the decretive and uncomfortable couches, _ah-ha!_ he’d found Damian.

Now to try to talk to the other boy.

Dick feels like he started off on the wrong foot with Damian, their first interaction had been Dick’s anxiety attack, and Damian had been pretty quiet yesterday, (which granted, Dick has no idea if that is normal behavior for Damian or not) but nonetheless Dick would still like to try to get to know the other.

And preferably before Bruce or Grayson got home to interrupt.

Dick clears his throat to get the other boy’s attention as he steps into the room. Damian gives him a quick glance over the back of the couch but doesn’t say anything, which Dick thinks is as good as an invitation.

“I didn’t want to scare you by just barging in,” the fourteen-year-old says as he takes a few more paces into the study, wary of the large dog that sits under Damian’s feet.

“I was aware of your presence the moment you appeared in the doorway,” Damian answers, curt and uninterested.

Dick circles the couch and takes a seat crisscross on the floor, facing Damian and Titus at a distance rather than sitting next to the other boy on the couch. (Dick’s pretty sure that would be pushing it for the both of them)

Dick hums as he bites at his lip, fidgeting with the strap on his sling as he watches Damian. The younger is drawing on a large sketch pad, one of his earbuds stuck in his ear, the other hanging around his neck, Dick can’t make out the song.

“What are you listening to?” Dick asks, trying to start up some sort of conversation.

“You do not find my taste in music appealing,” Damian answers plainly, like he already _knows_ \- which, well _,_ he probably _does_ in all honesty.

It’s exasperating to have a group of people know all your likes and dislikes, your hobbies and dreams, and you know nothing about them in return. _How are you supposed to get to know someone when you have nothing to contribute to the conversation!?_

Without taking his eyes away from his sketchpad Damian goes on, “I prefer hard rock, heavy metal, and ethnic music.”

Dick rocks a little on his spot, taking a breath to settle the awkwardness he feels swimming around in his stomach. Okay, Damian didn’t have to clarify what music he listens to, maybe this is his way of being sociable (mini Bruce _right!?)_

“Ethnic music?” Dick asks, “what languages?”

“Arabic mostly,” Damian says, “my mother tongue.”

“Oh,” Dick mumbles to himself, not sure if he should broach his next question. “Are you…? Is that what-”

“I am Arabic on my mother’s side, yes,” Damian interjects, his charcoal pencil moving a bit more aggressively on his page, Titus must sense something because he bops his large head against Damian’s heel.

Dick licks his lips, asks, “does um- your mom, is she in Gotham, or-” but Damian interrupts again, halting in his drawing to glare over at the boy sitting on the floor.

“Is this an interrogation?” he asks witheringly. “I am not required to answer your constant onslaught of inquiries, Richard.”

And with that the room falls into a piercing quiet, Damian turning back to his sketch with angry narrowed eyes, Dick left fidgeting on the hardwood floor, not knowing what to do.

So apparently Damian’s mother is a sore subject.

Dick will have to keep that in mind.

He wonders if she died too, if that’s why Damian doesn’t want to talk about her. It’s not like it would be a surprise, Bruce lost his parents, and then adopted the rest of the Batkids, so they must all be orphans too, right? They’ve all lost their moms, their dads. It doesn’t matter that Damian isn’t an orphan, Bruce’s blood son, that doesn’t protect you from tragedy.

The silence goes on long enough that Dick considers just walking out, contemplates if that is the better choice, but he thinks that might be a mistake. If he gives up and leaves now it might be even harder to talk to Damian later.

Dick feels like he is failing some sort of unspoken test, and he doesn’t want to quit before he’s given it his best shot.

As the fourteen-year-old ponders over his next words he suddenly hears the ‘pitter-patter’ of small feet on the hardwood. Dick cranes his neck to find the source, but a moment later a black and white cat springs onto the back of the couch, before climbing down into Damian’s lap- which apparently Damian had anticipated, already having moved his sketchpad to the cushion next to him.

Dick blinks for a moment, working his jaw before he asks, “you have a cat?” in something akin to shock. This is his first time seeing the feline, or maybe Dick had just been too preoccupied with the humongous dog to notice the small cat. 

Damian chooses not to answer, just runs his hand down the feline’s back as he (she?) stretches out, her (his?) claws showing as the cat kneads at Damian’s leg.

Titus sits up from where he had been laying down, pressing his nose into Damian’s knee, seeking attention from the boy, jealous of the kitty now sprawled on Damian’s lap.

Dick watches the animals interact with Damian for a moment, he seems good with them, patient even, which Dick wouldn’t have expected from the other boy, but maybe that was a rude misjudgment on his part.

“What’s his name?” Dick finally asks, which draws the cat’s eye to Dick, as if he was just now noticing the teenager on the floor. The kitty jumps off of Damian’s lap and circles around Dick a few times, (assessing) before pawing at Dick’s back and rubbing against the boy.

“Alfred The Cat,” Damian answers as he gives Titus his full attention, rubbing under the dog’s chin and down his spine, seeming to follow a mental pattern down the Great Dane’s black fur.

Dick chokes on a laugh, _“Alfred The Cat?”_ he asks back, delighted.

Dick runs his hand down Alfred The Cat’s- _god that’s hilarious_ -back and down his tail in a few even strokes, earning an appreciative purr for his efforts. “That’s amazing,” he tells Damian, hoping that is the right thing to say in this situation.

When Damian doesn’t elect to speak, Dick goes on, “how many animals do you have?” Glancing over to the other teenager as Alfred The Cat settles in Dick’s lap, belly up. When Dick runs his fingers over the soft hair of the cat’s tummy the animal playful bats at his fingers, biting at the tip of Dick’s ‘trapped’ thumb.

“Presently, Titus, Alfred The Cat, and Batcow are my only animals,” Damian answers plainly. He’s pretending that he isn’t watching Dick play with his cat, but he clearly is, which is fine; Dick gets the feeling he is studying Damian just as much as Damian is him. 

“Batcow?” Dick asks as Alfred The Cat grabs his hand and pins it to his fluffy chest.

“Yes, my cow,” Damian speaks, now petting Titus with both hands. “I saved her from slaughter.”  

“You own a cow…” Dick feels astonished, “here, at the Manor?”

“No,” Damian’s says sarcastically, “she resides with Grayson and I at the Penthouse.”

Dick chooses to ignore the comment. “Can we…can we go see her?” he asks instead.

Dick had always wanted to own animals, but Bruce had said no, they didn’t have time for pets with their busy schedules- Dick with school and Robin, (not to mention training and his extracurricular classes held after school) he had barely had time for friends let alone a herd of animals.

But it had been hard, especially at first, to go from the circus where Dick had grown up surrounded by creatures of all shapes and sizes to _nothing_. To say Dick had been lonely his first few years at the Manor would be an understatement.

“I will accompany you to Batcow,” Damian says as he stands, motioning for Dick (or maybe that had been meant for Titus) to follow him out the door. “She is very sociable, and I have yet to see her today.”

Dick gets to his feet quickly, still holding Alfred The Cat in one arm as he follows Damian into the hall, “lead the way, Mr. Doolittle.”

* * *

**Bruce’s Perspective-**

Batman sits at the Bat-computer, running facial recognition software on the newest baddies and going over/updating his latest file on the Penguin. There’s something bigger going on here, Batman just needs the right clues to piece everything together.

There a shift of movement behind Bruce, but Alfred’s prim footsteps do not follow to announce his entering the Cave. Meaning it is someone else. Damian and Dick have already returned to the Penthouse after patrolling, which means it’s one of the other boys.

But there is a distinct lack of metallic gunpowder scenting the air and there are no heavy footfalls of combat boots on the Cave floor, (so not Jason) and no muted swish of a large cape or the smell of too strong coffee, (so not Tim either) -

“Come in, chum,” he tells Dickie, not glancing away from the computer as he listens to the boy approach him from behind.

Dickie’s been apprehensive when it comes to the Cave, Bruce hasn’t been able to fathom a reason as of why, yet- whether it brings up bad memories for the fourteen-year-old, or he just doesn’t know if he has jurisdiction down in the Cave now that he is in an alternate reality with another Robin.

This is the second instance that Dickie has come down to the Cave, but the first time he knowingly entered while Batman was working, Bruce wonders what has made the boy more brazen, confident enough to test his limits.

“Casework?” Dickie asks as he takes the seat next to Bruce; usually Tim’s designated spot, Red Robin and Batman seem to be partnering up more often, both finding with their combine recourses and detective skills that they close cases much more efficiently.

Dickie’s in green flannel pajamas and a Flash hoodie, slippers hanging off his feet (too big) and his injured arm hidden within the sweatshirt, he’d most likely thrown it on before he came down, the Batcave could be cold at the best of times.

Bruce looks over to Dickie in the oversized chair next to him, the boy giving him these earnest little glances as he fiddles with the string of his hoodie. Asking permission, without _actually_ asking permission, _‘is this okay?’- ‘is this allowed now?_ ’ the boy's posture speaks questioningly.

Bruce grunts an affirmative, picking up a file and placing it in front of Dickie. The boy’s face lights up the moment the stack of documents lands on the desk, prompting Bruce to say, “Cobblepot is sneaking weaponry into Gotham, but he has to have a partner, some sort of frontman I haven’t found yet.”

Dickie reads over the first pages as Bruce talks, humming or nodding to show he is listening. His eyebrows pinching in the middle with concentration. It fills Bruce’s chest with something parallel to déjà vu or nostalgia; it’s been so long since he has gotten to see Dick as anything other than a man, one capable of taking care of himself, one that didn’t _need_ Bruce anymore.

Bruce is beyond proud of the person Dick Grayson has grown into over these years, Dick is a better man- a better hero than Batman will ever be. Even so, Bruce can’t help but miss some of those earlier years, before there were all the walls and mistakes, all the barriers and scars between him and his oldest.

Bruce vows to make sure he doesn’t destroy his relationship with this boy, Dickie.

He’s been through much more than any of them have, but he’s still the same, still that shining light in the darkness, even if the brightness might have been diminished slightly by his traumas. He is still Dick Grayson, and Bruce would never turn him away.

“Seems like Penguin’s M.O,” Dickie says as he folds his legs under himself to get comfortable, leaning back in the chair and going over the case files in his lap, he does well with only one functioning hand. “You think he’s staying in the shadows so someone else will take the fall?”

Bruce turns back to the computer, watching as facial recognition brings up a few nobodies, -Eddie Fisher, Donny Hughes, and Lynda Jones- just lackeys, nothing that’s going to help him put the puzzle pieces together. 

“It would appear that way,” Bruce answers a moment later, “but I haven’t gotten a name out of anyone… _yet_.”

Dickie hums, flipping to the next page, he seems enthralled, excited to be included in a case, even if it’s just the more mundane aspects of it. Bruce knows the boy must be wondering if he will be allowed back into Hero Work, and even more so if he will return as Robin.

But the fourteen-year-old hasn’t brought up the subject in the month he has been here, and Bruce is biding his time carefully. Dickie is still injured, and Bruce doesn’t know what the boy is capable of, the subject of Hero Work has yet to be determined, let alone what persona Dickie will don once the time comes.

“And you’re hoping that if you can find the mystery man than he will squeal on Penguin?” Dickie asks, reminding Bruce of so many other cases worked with his first Robin. “Or are you just looking to get rid of the artillery?”  

Bruce glances to the boy, typing a few quick searches into the computer. “Whichever comes first,” he says, in one of his more flippant tones, one that he knows Dickie will understand as a joke.

The boy does, huffing a laugh as he turns back to the file in his lap, a content smile playing on his face as the two fall into a comfortable and familiar silence.

* * *

Bruce is about to send Dickie up to bed- because while he has enjoyed working on this case with the boy, (the two even trading off in some light banter) Alfred will have his _head_ if he lets the fourteen-year-old stay down here all night. 

-When suddenly there is the purr of a motorcycle rushing down the entrance to the Cave. A moment later Red Robin stumbles off of his bike, and up the few connecting stairs, his cape swishing out behind him. 

Bruce stands, snapping back into Batman mode as he takes in the state of his third son. “Report,” he says, not harshly, but urgently, worry making his tone come out more snappish than he meant it too.

Red Robin pulls off his cowl to show his sweat-slick hair and pinched brow, gritting his teeth as he holds his ribs. Bruce scans him with his eyes, finding the red of his suit over his left side a shade darker than the rest, blood.

The right kind of bullet could go through the armor, but there isn’t enough blood for that and surely Tim would have called in if he was shot. A puncture or stab wound is more likely, the injury doesn’t seem to be anywhere near organs- though Bruce needs to get a look at it to be sure--

Bruce comes back to himself as he concludes there are no other apparent wounds on Red Robin. Finding that Tim is in the middle of explaining. “— _lightly_ stabbed in the side,” he finishes, giving Bruce one of his self-conscious half smiles, still putting pressure on the injury with a blood-soaked hand.

However, before Bruce can lead Tim off to medical, Dickie springs forward, grabbing Tim by the elbow and pulling the older boy off towards the infirmary with long determined strides.

“Do we need to wake Alfred?” Dickie asks, still dragging the shocked Tim behind him.

“No-no we should leave Alfred,” Tim answers, “it isn’t that bad.”

Bruce huffs a soft scoff as he follows closely behind, Tim’s judgment when it comes to his own health is, _deplorable_ at best. Red Robin is notorious for downplaying injuries, and now that the boy is missing his spleen they cannot afford for Tim to hide or minimize his wounds.

Which is precisely why Bruce and Alfred made it mandatory for Red Robin to come to the Cave once a week for a quick med check. It was Nightwing’s idea that they should all abide by the new rule, and while it might be exasperating that Bruce himself has to get examined now, it does mean that he sees all of his children weekly.

“Do you feel anything left in your side?” Dickie asks in a quick succession, “nothing broke off?” The boy’s all business now, no hint of humor or the tiredness that had been in his voice only a few moments ago.

Dickie’s behavior reminds Bruce of how he himself feels when he puts on the cowl of Batman, when he can feel his mind shift into another mode, another world, one of black and white, right and wrong, one filled with logic and consequences.

Bruce has never witnessed any Dick Grayson do the same.

Tim seems to have an Off and On switch, even Jason to an extent. Damian and Cassandra are generally the same in and out of the mask. But Dick, Dick is always witty and filled with laughter, he is constantly himself, unperturbed and uncaring of who sees, a performer in his element. 

Bruce isn’t sure what to do about this abrupt change.

Isn’t sure he likes seeing it on Dickie. 

Tim doesn’t seem deterred by the questions, though he does seem to pick up on the change in Dickie’s behavior. “It seems like a pretty clean cut,” he replies, the three of them now in the medical area of the Cave.

Dickie pushes Tim towards one of the beds while he mechanically and quickly grabs the nearest medical supplies with his one functional arm. Bruce watches in bewilderment, sharing a befuddled glance with Tim behind the oblivious fourteen-year-olds back.

“Can we get your tunic off?” Dickie asks as he grabs a needle and plunges it into a vile of numbing agent with one hand. Still not looking at Bruce or Tim as he preps. This is not the boy Bruce had been sitting with only a few minutes ago.

Tim’s already struggling with his uniform, Bruce gives his third son a slight nod before helping the process, pulling off the top of his Red Robin armor to showcase a myriad of bruising and a diagonal slice on his left side, still bubbling with blood and running down to pool in the dip of Tim’s all too apparent hips.

Hmm…one dilemma at a time Bruce…one at a time.

Bruce turns to grab bandages as Dickie comes over with the needle, injecting it just above Tim’s stab wound to numb the area. They work efficiently, Dickie already having grabbed the right supplies, allowing Bruce to wash his hands as Dickie disinfected the slice and tries to prep all with one hand.     

Bruce and Tim watch the boy in a mild fascination, the way he moves in fluid motions, his lips pinched and none of his normal chatter there to lift the heavy air. He works without batting an eye, swiping at blood and grabbing the stature kit in a robotic way, it makes Bruce’s chest hurt, to see a child (his child) move so much like a drone, like a _soldier_.

However, when the fourteen-year-old goes to sew up Tim’s side Bruce steps in, taking the needle away with a gentle tug and placing his other hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ve got it from here chum,” Bruce says, low, almost a whisper. “Why don’t you head on up to bed,” he suggests.

Dickie blinks at him, seeming caught off guard, finally catching up to himself. The boy flounders for a moment, glancing at Bruce and then Tim, before giving a jerky nod that makes his too long hair shift into his eyes.

Dickie takes a step back from Bruce, almost stumbling over his too large slippers. “Y-yeah, um, sorry,” he mumbles, blinking wide blue eyes over at Tim again. “I just…uh, got tunnel vision I guess.”

And with that the boy slips away, climbing up the stairs and into the Manor without another word.

* * *

**Dickie’s Perspective-**

Dick isn’t sure what happens honestly, as soon as he sees Tim bleeding something just sort of _snaps_ in his mind.

Wounds, especially hemorrhaging ones, are to be fixed right away, no exceptions. Any injury could cost you your life out here, but open wounds must be sewn up and covered as quickly as possible.

The Invader’s creatures will be able to sniff you out with no issue once the scent of coppery blood fills the air, as soon as you are wounded you are now on the clock, ticking down second by agonizing second, _they are **coming**_.

So, Dick doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t give himself a moment, **-there is _no_ time-** before he is grabbing Tim and pulling him away to stitch him up as quickly as possible.

Tick,   
Tick,  
_Tick,_

Dick moves as efficiently and quickly as he can, there is no room for error, there can be no mistakes. Slip-ups will cost you your life, Dick’s learned this, he’s seen it, he’s _lived_ it.

The fourteen-year-old’s mind is running in a loop, a mantra of tasks fuddling together in his brain in a quick and continual repeat. Dick grabs the supplies that he requires, a mental list of what will need to be done, what are the contingencies, what are the rules to follow--?

They’ll have to relocate, pack up whatever supplies they have and move. Possibly set up a false trail to throw off their scent for the Invaders, it won’t work for long, but it might buy them some time.

 _Tick,_  
Tick,  
**Tick,**

No sleeping tonight, they can’t risk it. Dick feels the lingering tendrils of drowsiness in his system and has to push down the bout of panic that springs forth; it will be okay, everything’s fine, he can fix this, he can save Tim- and then they’ll work together throughout the rest of the darkness, watching the shadows, and listening for the gurgling growls of the monster-like creatures as they hide in wait.

Dick can feel his fingers beginning to shake with adrenaline and fear, the teen takes a deep breath in through his nose, forcing himself to calm down; freaking out isn’t going to help anyone, he needs to stay collected, needs to keep his mind set on the plan, that’s what Bruce would want, what Bruce would do.

****_Tick,  
Tick,  
Tick,_

Dick swipes away some of Tim’s blood, there isn’t much, but it’s enough, the aliens must already be headed toward them, they could be here at any given second. Dick plunges in the syringe just above Tim’s stab wound, numbing the area before he starts to string up the needle.

They could be in the shadows by now, watching, toying with them, waiting for Dick to become complacent before they pounce, before they sick their beasts on weaponless Dick and injured Tim and watch as the games unfold.

The fourteen-year-old’s breath stutters on his next exhale, his stomach twisting as he strains his hearing, he can’t make out anything implicating that the Invaders are here, just the echo of dripping liquid. -He wishes they had the time to fill up with some of the water, it might be a while before they can find anything more than dirty puddles again.

****_ Tick,  
Tick,  
TICK, _

Dick goes to stitch up Tim’s wound, but the needle is abruptly tugged away from his fingers. Dick flitches, spinning around when suddenly there is a warm weight on his shoulder, grounding the teenager, and then Dick finds himself looking at Bruce’s dark blue eyes.

“I’ve got it from here chum,” Bruce says, his words are soft, but they feel like cold water washing over Dick, sharp and unexpected, leaving Dick to struggle, gasping and thrashing to the surface by himself. “Why don’t you head on up to bed,” the man continues.

Dick feels himself blink slowly, his mouth opening and shutting a few times in complete bewilderment.

He’s…in the Batcave, with Bruce, _the Batcave, with Bruce,_ who is alive and looking at Dick with something that might be concern, possibly alarm, it’s hard for Dick’s muddled brain to tell.

Dick glances over to the med bed, finding Tim still bloodied, but perfectly fine. The older boy is giving Dick a worried frown. Because--because this is not the protocol for this world, they aren’t being hunted down like wild animals, wounds do not mean impending doom, this is…Dick had thought…

TI _ck_ …  
….tick….  
………… _ti……_

Dick gives a sharp nod, taking a step away from Bruce and letting the man’s hand slip from his shoulder. “Y-yeah, um, sorry,” Dick says with numb uncooperative lips, throat dry and sticky. “I just…uh, got tunnel vision I guess.”

And then Dick is forcing himself up the stairs to the Manor, waiting to break into a run until he knows Bruce will be unable to hear him from the Cave below.

The teenager almost trips over his slippers as he climbs the second set of stairs, he kicks them off hurriedly, leaving them haphazardly on the steps as he stumbles his way down the hallway and into his bedroom.

Dick shuts his door with an ominous _‘click’_ pressing his forehead to the cold wood for a moment before he finds himself pacing back and forth, running trembling fingers through his black hair as he can’t seem to stop fidgeting, can’t seem to catch his breath.

He had thought…

….it had just been _instinct_ …

……but it had felt so real….

Because for the longest time it _had_ , it had been Dick’s reality, and he was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that it was all over now, it didn’t seem like it could be that easy. Just press a button and now he has a _whole new life_ , gets to start over on a different Earth, live on as if the extinction of everything Dick knew, everyone he **loved** _-_ _Hadn’t Happened._

Dick presses himself up against a wall, sliding down and jostling his hurt shoulder in the process, (he doesn’t care) almost relishes the pain, it’s there because of what he’s been through, it hasn’t been washed away, hasn’t vanished as if nothing ever happened, _as if it didn’t matter._

Dick shutters, pressing his good hand to his mouth as he pants out harsh rattling breaths. He can feel a pressure behind his ribs, building and building, pressing uncomfortably against his clavicle and jamming itself into his throat, choking him and making the fourteen-year-old’s eyes burn with anxiousness.

Why him? Why does Dick get to be the sole survivor of his planet? What gives _him_ the right? What makes him so special? Why is it his burden to bare? To be the only one that remembers, to mourn all those people, a whole world; Why does all of that fall to _Dick’s_ shoulders?

Why,   
_Why,_  
**_Why!?_**

Dick sucks in a raspy breath, it catches in his chest with a wet sound, making his body hitch as the tears finally spill over hotly onto his cheeks, sliding down to stain his lips with their bitter taste.

God, what is wrong with him?! This is his second mental breakdown this week, and both were caused by such _stupid things!_

(He’s cracked, he’s finally lost it)

Dick’s body trembles, with the comedown of adrenaline, or, from his _oh so wonderful_ anxiety attack, he isn’t really sure, but it makes Dick feel even more pathetic and childish.

So, he stuffs himself against his dresser and the wall more tightly and brings his knees up to his chest, trying to regulate his breathing.

It doesn’t seem to be working all that well.

A moment later there is a feather-light knock at Dick’s door and then a stream of light as the person lets themselves in.

Dick swipes roughly at his faces, trying to hide the evidence of his meltdown, though he knows it’s in vain, he lives with a bunch of _Bats_ after all.

The teenager had been expecting Bruce after his little show downstairs, but instead, it is Alfred that comes into his line of view a moment later.

The Butler is wearing one of his dressing gowns, slippers on his feet, and two mugs in his hands. “Hello, young sir,” he greets, his words are spoken over a sad sigh, his eyes showing his frown more than his lips ever could.

Dick doesn’t think he can quit answer with the emotions still clogging his throat, he opts to swipe at his eyes with his sleeve and sniff, not the most eloquent response; but Alfred seems to understand- because Alfred is wonderful like that.

The older man bends down slightly, trying to be eye level with the distraught teenager as he gives a wan smile. The Butler’s knees give an audible creak as he crouches, and for some reason _that_ makes Dick start crying again.

This Alfred is so much older than the Alfred Dick had known, his hair is more gray than anything else, the wrinkles around his eyes are more pronounced, he wears reading glasses now, and his bones _creak_.

Dick makes a pathetic sound into his knees, his eyes burning anew.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he can’t seem to calm himself down, and he’s just so _freaking emotional,_ that should probably make the teen angry, but instead, it just frustrates him, causing his chest to hitch with more childish sobbing.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Alfred murmurs as he runs a hand through Dick’s shaggy hair. It almost sounds as if the Englishman had wanted to say more, an unfinished sentence hanging from his lips, drifting in the space between them; but instead, the pair just fall into a silence, one where Dick tries to reel himself in, and Alfred is content to wait for Dick to compose himself.

When Dick can finally pull in a full breath, digging his hand into his eyes to stop their watering, he peeks up at Alfred from behind his bangs and says, “hi Alfred,” like the Butler had just come in, like he hadn’t been crouching over Dick for the past five minutes as Dick cried his eyes out.

Alfred’s lips twitch with a repressed, but fond smile, “good evening, Master Dick,” he greets back, “if you would like to relocate to the bed, there is a cup of chocolate waiting for you.”

Dick blinks at the older man for a moment, before he starts to slide back up the wall, using it to steady himself. “Are you magic Alfred?” the teen can’t help but ask, taking the Englishman’s hand to help Alfred up from his position on the floor.

Alfred hums something that could be construed as a yes, but is just on the edge of non-commutive, leaving Dick to wonder how it was that Alfred always seemed to pop up exactly at the right time. (Again, it must have been his trusty Butler-sense)

Dick plops down onto the mattress non-too gently, folding his legs under himself as he puffs out his cheeks and releases a heavy sigh that hitches in-between, still coming down from the sob-fest he had put on earlier. _(Thank you, ladies and gents, he’ll be here all week!)_

Alfred sits down next to Dick an instant later, handing the boy a steaming cup of cocoa as he takes a tentative sip of his own -of what Dick would guess is tea.

The warmth of the mug soaks into Dick’s fingers, his hands stubbornly holding onto that all familiar chill that comes from sitting in the Batcave for extended amounts of time. The teenager watches the liquid ripple as he continues to tremble slightly, the chocolate dancing somberly in his mug.

The two sit in a fragile silence until Dick has drunk a good portion of his cocoa, the teen’s breathing ceasing in its hitching, his hands no longer unsteady, and his heart slowing down to something less emotional.

Alfred has always had that calming effect, the whole room feels less dark with his Grandfather sat at Dick’s side, the air easier to breathe, the world a little less daunting.

“May I ask, Master Dick,” Alfred begins, slow, measured, all too aware that he is in the middle of a minefield. “What is this all about?”

Dick sucks in a large gulp of air, gazing out his bedroom window and into the dusk of four in the morning, convincing himself that nothing waits in those shadows, that even if there was- he has people to fight by his side now.

When Dick finds his words, his tongue less weighted, his brain clearing, the teen glances back down to his lap, starting, “I just…” the boy has to stop, unstick his throat with another sip of chocolate before he tries again. “It just kind of all hit me at once,” Dick mumbles, not finding the courage to look Alfred in the eye.

“I hadn’t thought about it much, hadn’t _let_ myself think about it,” Dick confides.

The fourteen-year-old had been so caught up in adjusting to the fact that this Bruce had a _family_ , another Dick Grayson, not to mention a new Robin, that he hadn’t really let his mind wrap around the fact that he is the last human from his reality, he is the sole survivor, it felt like a huge responsibility, one that Dick doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with.

“It just,” Dick huffs, finally letting his blue eyes stray over to Alfred’s kind ones. “Part of me wants to forget, to move on y’know? But-but if I do that is it selfish?” Dick has to look back down to the sheets at this, his eyes are stinging, but he will _not_ allow himself to cry again. “Because I-I wouldn’t just be forgetting the-the _Invaders_ , I’d be forgetting everyone else too.” 

It takes Alfred a moment to answer, the Englishman seemingly thinking over his words carefully. “No one would wish for you to hold onto those traumas, lad. That is a burden no one should bear.” Alfred pauses then, placing a gentle hand to Dick’s shoulder, causing the boy to look up.

“Letting go of your suffering is not letting go entirely. You do not need to recall the bad to remember the good.” The older man rests his palm to the back of Dick’s neck here. “Do not live in heartache over what you cannot change, strive to live in a way that will make all of their sacrifices worth it.”

* * *

Dick is feeling pretty optimistic.

Bruce’s whole family is coming over for dinner tonight, and Dick is extremely nervous and excited, but it’s good a feeling- similar to the before-show jitters that Dick remembers experiencing when he got to fly on the trapeze with his parents back in the good old days.

Dick is fairly certain that some of Alfred’s Butler-Magic must have been involved in orchestrating this whole affair, because from what the fourteen-year-old has heard this isn’t the type of family that has weekly dinners or happy get-togethers.

Grayson and Damian are both coming, which means that Titus and Alfred The Cat are also attending. But Dick thinks he has all of that under control, he’s been less…less _emotional_ after he had his breakdown a few days ago.

Which probably sounds odd, but it felt like a release of sorts. Plus, Bruce had come to speak to Dick the other night, because _of course_ he did, and they were able to discuss a few things that made Dick feel better.

The man had wanted to know what transpired when Dick was down in the Cave, and so the fourteen-year-old had described what happened once he caught sight of Tim’s wound, how his mind just _snapped_ back into survival mode.

The boy didn’t really have to go into much detail about the panic-attack it led up to. (Dick was fairly sure that Alfred had already explained the situation to Bruce prior to the man showing up to Dick’s room. _Because they were sneaky like that_ )

Bruce had explained that when dealing with phycological traumas what Dick experienced (while upsetting) was normal and nothing to be ashamed of. And maybe that should have made Dick feel worse, having a label, even a vague one, but really it had just made the fourteen-year-old feel better.

His breakdown(s), his random bouts of anxiety, those flashbacks or times he got stuck on things- they were _warranted_.

Dick had felt a knot unravel in his chest as Bruce explained they would work on it, that Dick could move past this with time, but that he didn’t have to do so alone.

And so, the two had set up a plan and contingencies, because that was the best way to be prepared- and Batman and Robin prided themselves on being ready for anything and everything.

They both came to the conclusion that Dick seemed to come back to reality once Bruce touched or spoke to him, neither is sure if it is only _Bruce_ that has that effect on Dick, but it was decided that the teenager probably shouldn’t be in the Cave unless B is present. (At least until Dick thought he had a better handle on his mental state)

Better safe than sorry, _right?_

Bruce felt it best that Dick take things slow when it comes to Hero Work, the boy can’t do much with his shoulder anyway, but even when the sling comes off there will need to be physical therapy and B said he would like it if Dick focused on getting healthy and back into fighting shape before they discussed his patrolling.

Which Dick _knew_ was a copout so they wouldn’t have to discuss the matters of _Robin_.

But the teenager can’t say he really has the guts to talk to Bruce about that anyway. It’s a subject to tackle at another time. _Damian_ is this world’s Robin, and how is Dick supposed to fight for his colors when he can’t fight at all?

So, plan of action currently; Dick needs to feel comfortable and like he is one of the family, because Bruce, Alfred, (and the adult Dick) insists that he _is_ and that no one will begrudge him. (Not even Damian _apparently_ …or so they say)

Which brings Dick back to the reasons for tonight’s little shindig.

Since the fourteen-year-old has met almost all of Bruce’s kids one on one it seems the appropriate time to gather everyone and just jump in. Dick might not be able to train or practice down in the Cave right now, but he can try to move forward up here in the Manor- _so that’s what he’s gonna do._

Tim is already here, typing away at his laptop in a small study (Bruce’s mom’s favorite) and he says Stephanie is on her way and should be here any minute now. (Tim even showed Dick the text he received from Stephanie saying that she _‘wouldn’t miss this for the world!’_ )

Stephanie is the only person Dick hasn’t previously met that’ll be here tonight- because apparently, Cassandra lives in Hong Kong for the time being, so Dick will have to meet her some other time.

The only person no one is sure of is Jason.

And apparently, you can’t just straight out _ask the guy_ if he’s coming, because of ‘ _reasons’_ \- which Dick is not privy too.

The fourteen-year-old still feels like there is something off there, remembering back to the glass case down in the Batcave, ‘ **Jason Todd - A Good Soldier** ’… _(suspicious)_  

Dick chews on his bottom lip as he wanders around the Manor a bit aimlessly. Bruce is down in the Cave analyzing some sort of sample he had swabbed from the latest drug bust he pulled, and Tim is working on a few last-minute reports for WE, because apparently _Tim_ is the CEO, and Dick doesn’t think he should bother either of them.

Alfred won’t mind if Dick hangs out with him…

Probably…

Dick’s bored, and impatient, _okay!?_ He can’t wait around doing nothing while the other kids slowly meander over for dinner, if he sits just twiddling his thumbs he’s gonna lose his mind.

He needs to keep himself occupied.

As the teenager reaches the curved staircase, humming a tune absent-mindedly, he can’t help but glance a bit mischievously at the banister. Hmm… (Bad ideas are a-brewin') Dick sticks his head out, swiveling it back and forth, trying to spot one sneaky Butler.

When Alfred doesn’t randomly appear to scold the teenager for just _thinking_ about being rebellious, Dick figures his Butler-senses must not be tingling, so the cost is clear for the moment.

The fourteen-year-old hoists himself onto the banister, wiggling a little to make sure he isn’t going to topple over or slip off, (Alfred’s been here recently, the wood smells like lemon finishing) satisfied that he won’t fall, the teenager unravels his fingers from his precarious grip, and without another thought he lets himself slide down with barely repressed laughter.

The bottom of the rail is decorated with a fancily carved bulb, so Dick presses one socked foot to the slick wood and presses upward, twisting over the round ending and using his momentum to do a slightly crooked round-off in the air before he lands on the marble floor of the foyer, his socks making him slide forward a few paces before coming to an abrupt stop.

And then someone is applauding, deliberately slow, giving a low impressed whistle.

Dick’s head snaps up in surprise, blue eyes widening at having been caught in the act.

There is a girl leaned against the front door, blonde hair held up by a thick band that matches the purple scarf wrapped around her neck. She claps a few more times as she kicks off her yellow chucks, giving a little chuckle that crinkles her eyes.

“Well,” she says, no Gotham accent to color her voice, just the touch of amusement in her tone. “If there was any doubt about who you are, there isn’t now.”

Dick wiggles a little, shifting from foot to foot as he glances over the girl- she’s tall, (maybe even taller than Tim, so definitely taller than Dick) her eyes are a blend of green and blue, and she smells like brown sugar and wind.

This must be Stephanie.

“Well I mean, could’a curved it a bit better,” Dick says, forcing himself to stop fidgeting, going for friendly and nonchalant instead, no reason to feel jittery. “My shoulder’s throwing me off balance.”

Stephanie shrugs good-naturedly, her eyes twinkling with something Dick might categorize as mischievous, though he has only known the girl for all of two minutes.

Unwinding her scarf, the blonde drapes it onto one of the many hooks lined up across the wall next to the door. (Dick wonders if there is a hook for every family member, wonders if _he_ has a hook)

“That landing though,” Stephanie praises with a sideways wink, turning back to Dick and reaching out for a handshake. “I’m Stephanie Brown, the only moderately sane person in this household,” she pauses for a moment, seeming to rethink her words, “other than Alfred I mean,” she concedes. 

The fourteen-year-old takes her hand with a smile and a chuckle, noticing the chipped blue nail polish and the two split knuckles with a quick glance.

Dick is surrounded by fighters, by detectives, by Bats. It’s odd, but exhilarating in a way.

While Dick had been Robin he had been surrounded by Metas- Robin and Batman (with a few exceptions) were the only heroes that had to rely solely on training and brains, a miscalculation or inability to adapt could cost you your life, which is why they had to learn the hard way, why they had to work five times harder than the rest of the Justice League.

But all _these_ people, all of Bruce’s children, they were just like Dick. They were kids that had a knack for fighting, a longing for justice, and jumped in head first.

They weren’t born with powers or on another planet, they were _human_ ; they were flawed and vulnerable, and they had to learn more lessons and put in more effort because of the fact.

Dick’s never felt such an even playing field with other heroes. It’s new and exciting, it makes him long to see what these people can do, how they tick and function. What can he learn from them, and what can he teach in return?

He wants to know-

How did Stephanie split her knuckles this week, who was she fighting?

What made Jason a ‘Good Soldier’ in Bruce’s eyes, how did he earn such respect from Batman himself?

How did Tim juggle his responsibilities as a CEO of a large multi-billion-dollar company and his hero work?

What was it like for Damian, being the blood son of Batman? It must be a lot to live up too.

Well, Dick ponders to himself, he thinks he’s on his way to finding the answers to all his questions. 

“I’m Dick The Reality Jumper,” Dick introduces himself, even if he doesn’t technically have to. It’s awkward not to say something in return, but Stephanie seems laid-back, she won’t care.

Stephanie drops the younger boy’s hand as she huffs a laugh, “that your full name?” she asks, mirth in her blue-green eyes, a smirk decorating her face.

Dick hums in mock contemplativeness, tapping his chin with a finger to give it the full effect as he rolls his eyes up to the high ceiling. “Yup, just try not to confuse me with Rick The World Hopper.”

Stephanie full on cackles at that, her head falling backward and her teeth showing as she laughs. “Oh, this is gonna be _fun_.” Her sentence is punctured as she throws an arm over the shorter teen’s shoulder and leads him toward the kitchen. “Now tell me little man- - -”

* * *

Dick can’t say he didn’t get a little lost within the family dynamic.

Which isn’t a bad thing, it’s actually pretty entertaining to watch the Bat-siblings interact with one another. They joke and tease, bring things up at the others' expense only to have something embarrassing thrown right back at them in retaliation.

It was fun and well… _normal_ , which is something Dick’s life has been lacking for a very long time.

There were plenty of stories and inside jokes, family memes and random quotes. It was all very domestic, and Dick found himself unwinding as the night went on. Happy to observe and get to know these people that Bruce has taken in.

It probably helped that Stephanie and Grayson both pulled the teenager into conversation whenever he had fallen silent for too long, and by the end of dinner Dick felt comfortable enough to throw in a comment or a snide remark when the moment presented itself.

He even hesitantly told the story of his first time driving the Batmobile. At the beginning, the fourteen-year-old hadn’t been sure if they would have already heard it, if Grayson had experienced the same thing himself, years ago.

But as Dick recited the tale, describing the drugged-out Batman and how a ten-year-old Robin had struggled to get the Dark Knight into the car as a few disgruntled baddies watched tied up from the sidelines- the whole table had erupted into laughter.

Well, that is to say, Grayson and Stephanie had both lost it, Tim had been a little more subtle about it, while Damian pretended not to find the story amusing, (or at least Dick assumed that he was pretending) and the only sign that Bruce found the account humorous was the slight twitch of his lips whenever Dick recounted another hilarious tidbit.

So, in the end, dinner had been a success in Dick’s opinion.

Even if Jason _hadn’t_ shown up, which if Dick is being honest, he was pretty disappointed over. But no one else had seemed all that surprised by the man’s absence, so Dick hadn’t brought it up after his initial suggestion that maybe someone should call him.

Alfred had saved Jason a plate of food just in case the man showed up in the middle of dinner, but even the Englishman had just seemed to be humoring Dick.

Which, _again_ , Dick would like to know what that was all about.

Questions, he has _so_ many questions.

After dinner Grayson had shot up from his chair, pointing a finger to the ceiling and loudly declaring that they were having a movie night. Which both B and Damian had declined in order to go out on patrol, though Grayson hadn’t seemed surprised over that in the least. 

When Tim tried to do the same, however, both Stephanie and Grayson had grabbed him by the arms and practically dragged the teenager to the media room, the boy spluttering about a ‘drug cartel’ and ‘responsibilities to Gotham’ the whole way up the stairs and down the hall, though it seemed more for show rather than an actual desire to get out of movie night.

So that is evidently how Dick has found himself lounged out on the L-shaped couch, a plush pillow hugged to his chest, and his legs folded under himself. Squished between his older counterpart and Tim, Stephanie monopolizing the bowl of popcorn on the other side of Timothy.

The fourteen-year-old’s mouth is still sweet and sticky from the root beer float he drank earlier, leaving him to feel full and satisfied. Content to watch the CGI filled superhero movie with a mocking sort of smile on his face.

“Do these people not know how explosions work?” Tim pipes up, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it into his mouth. “It’s so unrealistic,” he says after he swallows, because obviously, he has more manners than Dick does.

“And how is it that Captain America looks sexy no matter what!?” Stephanie says, “because after fighting for a few days, let me tell you, you do not look like _that_ ,” she jabs a finger accusingly at the screen- Captain America and Spider-Man going at it under a Bridgeway.

Dick hums as he lets himself tip to the side a little more, almost leaning on his older self but not going as far as actually touching the man- Dick isn’t sure if they are there yet, doesn’t know where their boundaries are.

“Well, unless you’re Superman,” the teen concedes, giving a one-shouldered shrug, because Clark pretty much looks good no matter what- and no one can argue that fact.

“Clark is bulletproof though,” Grayson says before he is slinging an arm around the younger boy so that Dick is leaned up on the man’s shoulder. The fourteen-year-old’s eyes widen a friction, but he doesn’t pull away.

Alright, so touching it apparently fine.

Good to know since Bruce has never been the touchy-feely type. Dick has always found comfort in touching other’s, his parents had been very hands-on with him, and because they lived in such close quarters Dick had always been around them, sleeping in the same room and sitting on his dad’s lap during breakfast.

It wasn’t like Bruce never touched Dick, he gave pats on the shoulder and hair ruffles pretty freely, and Dick could cone the man out of a hug every once and a while. But sometimes Dick needed more, or at least _wanted_ more, especially when he wasn’t feeling confident or stable.

Which, Grayson probably knew, and that would explain the man’s attitude when it came to cuddling….hmm.

“Cap is just juiced up, or whatever,” Grayson goes on, giving Dick’s shoulder a slight squeeze. “So yeah, he shouldn’t still look so great. But I mean they all look showered and non-sweaty and that right there is just people glamorizing the idea of superheroes.”

“Amen brother,” Stephanie’s hand appears in front of Dick’s face and a moment later Grayson gives her a fist-bump.

They’ve been marathoning the Marvel movies because apparently Dick has missed quite a few (Disney pumps them out like there is _no tomorrow_ ) and they are a Must See, (according to Grayson) and not just so the teenagers can make fun of the impractical parts, but because who doesn’t like a superhero movie?

They’re at the climax of the film, Iron Man taking on Captain America and the Winter Soldier in an understandable but unstable fit of rage- when there is a light knock on the doorframe, causing the four couch dwellers to glance behind them.

Dick is expecting to find Alfred, (though he had hoped the Butler had gone to bed) so the teenager is pleasantly surprised to find Jason Todd standing there instead.

Jason waggles his eyebrows at the group, coming into the room with a quick glance to the TV. “Movie marathon?” he asks as he comes up behind the couch, reaching down and ruffling Tim’s hair.

Tim bats his hand away, but Jason is already pulling back, walking around the couch and waving his hand in a ‘shoo’ motion as he says, “move over Dick.” To which both Dicks pull away from one another to shift down the couch in a quiet befuddlement.

The fourteen-year-old glances over to Grayson at the same time the man looks to him, both realizing that neither of them really know who Jason is addressing.

Jason, at seeing their confusion, cracks up. Plopping himself down between the younger Dick and Tim, still chuckling as he says, “we gotta get this whole name thing figured out.” He pats the fourteen-year-old on the shoulder as something of a greeting.

To which Dick knocks their knees together and says, “glad you came over,” with a genuine smile on his face.

Jason huffs a sound that is on the edge of disbelieving, “thanks kid,” he says.

Jason’s in a brown leather jacket and black cargo pants, no shoes, and smelling of gun-powered, so Dick thinks it’s safe to assume the man just got back from patrolling. 

“He is right though,” Tim says a moment later, shifting so he isn’t pressed so close to Jason. “We haven’t really discussed the who name dilemma.”

Dick had known this conversation was inevitable, it wasn’t like he and his older counterpart could both go by ‘Dick’, that was confusing and impractical.

The teenager had just been putting it off because it made him feel nauseous having to think about giving up his real name as well as Robin, he wouldn’t have any of his former identities left, and Dick didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with that loss.

But the name ‘Dick’, just like the persona of Robin, did not belong to Dick on this world, and the fourteen-year-old knew he had to come to terms with that.

Which is why he takes a deep breath, one that burns in his constricting lungs, and says, “you can have the name, our name,” to Grayson.

The man looks shocked for a moment- like he hadn’t been expecting that, blinking before he shakes his head. “No, no it’s fine I can go by Richard, it’s no problem.” He places a hand on the younger’s shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

But Dick doesn’t concede, no matter how much he might like too, “but you _are_ Dick here,” he pushes. It’s true, everyone that knows this man knows him as _Dick_ , his coworkers, his friends, his family, you can’t just change that, it’s already been established.

“Plus, Richard is like, super formal and just…” The teenager grimaces, imagining having to go by his full name at all times, it doesn’t feel right in the slightest. Dick moves his hand around as he searches for the right words, unable to find them he huffs, “just… _no_ ,” he settles on, shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe you guys are fightin’ over being called _Dick_ ,” Jason pipes in a moment later with a scoff, “you two should be fightin’ over who gets _stuck_ with it, not the other way aroun’…”

Jason trials off as both Dicks turn and level him with two identical glares, his mouth snapping shut before he glances over his shoulder to Tim, “ _oh my god_ ,” he mock-whispers, “Timmy, Timmers, Timbo, help a guy out.”

Stephanie cackles almost spilling the popcorn in the process before she collects herself, “why do either of you have to go by Richard?” she asks, “I mean sons are named after their fathers all the time,” she leans forward so she can make eye contact with both the former Flying Graysons. “I have an uncle that we call Big Jerry and a cousin we call Little Jerry, and that works fine.”

“… _Big Dick_ ,” Jason starts, whispering conspiracy, “and _Little Dick_.”

The room erupts into knelling peals of laughter then, Stephanie dumping the bowl of popcorn on the floor in her hysteria, Jason starts choking on his own mirth, tears forming in his eyes, and Tim tries and fails to contain his giggling as he stuffs his face into a decretive pillow.

Dick is _not_ amused, and neither is Grayson.

It takes a good five minutes for the laughter to die down, and when it does Dick sets his face into his best Bat-glare and cocks his head to the side, as if to say, ‘are you finished?’

Jason is still chuckling, and Stephanie lets out a little giggle every few breaths or so, but Tim pulls himself together almost convincingly, before he says, “yeah, _no_. That isn’t going to work.”

 _“You think?!”_ Jason cackles, and Dick takes the liberty to shove the man off the couch and onto the popcorn-littered across the carpet, earning himself a high five from his older counterpart. 

“I think most of us have just been referring to you as Dickie,” Tim goes on, ignoring Jason cursing on the floor. “So it could just be _Dick_ and _Dickie_ , I mean,” the older boy gives Dick a questioning look, “if that’s okay with you?”

Dick pauses, biting his lip, before he realizes belatedly that they are all silently waiting for his reply, they are asking _his_ permission, if it’s okay for them to refer to him as ‘Dickie’.

The fourteen-year-old nods a bit hesitantly, Dickie works fine, his mom and dad used to call him that from time to time, it had just been for special occasions.

He was ‘Dickie’ when he got sick, when he was sad or in need of comforting. He was ‘Richard’ when things were serious, or he was in trouble. He was ‘Dick’ all the time, to his parents and strangers alike. And he was ‘Robin’ first to his mother, and then to the world.

So, Dickie works fine, it was just another aspect of himself, he could be Dickie to these people, to his newly forming… _family._

“Dickie, it is,” Dick says, smiling softly when the rest of the group all give him soft pleased looks. Jason knocking their feet together, Stephanie winking at him, and the older Dick ruffling the younger boy’s too long hair.

“Dickie, it is,” Tim repeats, seeming to cement it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made quite a lot of headway in this one, heh guys!? Lots going on here.
> 
> I am so happy to have this chapter finished and posted, it's slowly been killing me, but it paid off since this is the longest chapter (for now) and I'm happy with it. :)
> 
> Please leave your thoughts, comments are a writer's life force.  
> ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ
> 
> Alright kiddies, until next month *fingers crossed* Fernandilly-yo out!


End file.
